


Bits and Pieces

by Apple_Fairy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabbles, Ficlets, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 12:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16853713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Fairy/pseuds/Apple_Fairy
Summary: A series of drabbles I've written for Asakiku. The moods and the settings are different but they're all centered around the same pairing. Will feature: scenes of them in the morning, scenes of them fighting, scenes of them cherishing each other. I hope you can enjoy.





	1. Things You Said After You Kissed Me

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it would be best to gather all these small fics I had lying around into one fic. Thank you for reading.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written from a prompt I was given. A scene of Arthur and Kiku on a balcony.

“You’ve known me too long,” Kiku whispers on his lips, “to make that mistake.”

His mouth had tasted of cigarettes and salt and Kiku drew back just as silently as he first initiated it. The kiss had been quick and short, but it had done its purpose and Arthur is speechless on the hotel balcony. It was only meant to be a quick chat. When he had invited Kiku to his hotel room, all he had wanted was a quick chat. To expect anything else was being too greedy and so Arthur had already resolved to expect nothing else.

But Kiku was too smart for him and too motivated. What had been a moment of decompressing on the balcony, sitting and smoking and talking, had turned into a labyrinth. And while Arthur had followed its path, he didn’t expect to find himself at the end, confronted with his own feelings and wants and needs all laid out on the table.

He had apologized. He told Kiku to leave. The mistake he had made was expecting them to act like nothing had happened. He hadn’t realized yet it was Kiku who put him through those twist and turns and confessions. He only did after, those few minutes after the kiss. Arthur’s still red-faced and Kiku takes another draw of smoke from his cigarette. When he releases it, it weaves and twirls through the air, dancing amongst their tension. Arthur gulps.

“So? What now?” Arthur chokes out, “You take me to bed and we start it all over again?”

Kiku doesn’t flinch. He considers the skyline for a moment, and shrugs.

“No.” He smiles. “In the morning we can talk it out and I’ll promise you I’ll do better. I hope you can do the same for me.”

Arthur feels like he should cry, but the tears don’t come. Instead, there is a burning need in his stomach and the impulsive want for more. He’d like that. He’d like all the things Kiku promises. He nods, and Kiku slips his hand into his on the railing. Arthur squeezes it. He never thought he’d be so happy to underestimate someone.

“.. _.After_ you take me to bed?” Arthur dares to say. He’s shameless, but Kiku knows this. There’s a moment of silence where Arthur doesn’t look to Kiku, but Kiku ends up laughing a little. The tension is broken. Arthur’s watching the night sky, but he’s turned away from it when Kiku puts a hand on his cheek and kisses him again. He wonders why he even tried hiding anything from him. Kiku knows him too well, and he may just remember him for the rest of their lives.

(In it’s own way, it’s a comforting thought.)


	2. More to a Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiku is in that puppy love stage of a crush when you want to know everything about that person

Kiku is beginning to realize there’s more to a man than even what the universe holds.

He can’t say why he began asking Arthur about his past. If he asked around enough, he could probably get it from the rest of their peers. He remembers when Netherlands brought him all sorts of information from around the world, and he remembers that Arthur had been amongst that stream. It hadn’t caught his eye until he had met the nation up close, until he had formed an alliance with him, only when Arthur had come into view. Then Kiku found himself wondering and craving more. However, it wasn’t just the historical moments he cared for, but he wanted the details and the emotions more then anything. And he knew he could get it from Arthur, and so he would always ask him in the calmest moments between them about his childhood, about how he got where he was. At first, Arthur had been professional about it, so Kiku had to coax out more. He can’t say why he wants more; maybe he just wants a clearer picture.

Arthur is an amazing storyteller. It must be something in his blood or his people, but when he weaved stories they could be pictured so clearly. And so Kiku would close his eyes during his explanations and see everything he described.

There were stories of when Arthur was just a child. How he navigated the grand forests of his island, and how he was just a small thing in a green cloak with a sharp tongue and a self-made bow. He was always on-guard, he admitted. He was taught to distrust people from the beginning and so his childhood was just as anxious. But he remembers feeling so much more capable if only because the world was much more simpler. He only had so many things to keep up with, and he learned how to do that. He could hunt. He could attack. And more importantly, he could befriend the fair folk of his forests and learned their ways. Kiku’s not sure if Arthur’s telling the truth at that part, but honestly it didn’t matter. Arthur could still speak their tongue to this day, and he could list off names of all the ones he’s met. To Kiku, it sounded like a fairy tale and he took it as such. Arthur admits, for the longest time he was afraid of silver, if only because of them.

There was the court life, of course, and in this part Kiku related with him the most. He’s sure all nations went through those hardships. Not learning manners, or adapting with times, no. But the unwarranted popularity, how they were viewed as an easy way to get to someone’s leader. Arthur admits to Kiku he could take the mannerisms, but not the people. And so, when the age of piracy came, he couldn’t have been more happy.

These were Kiku’s favorite stories. (Well, honestly he loved all of it, but Arthur’s pirate age was just more appealing.) Arthur tried his best not to romanticize it, but Kiku would have none of it. He wanted to hear about a young man on the bow of a ship trying to hold the world in his hands. He loved the beauty of it. Arthur tinges the stories with joking anecdotes and luxurious details. Arthur admits, despite the circumstances, the best sleep he’s ever had was on a ship if only because the way it rocked on the waves was so soothing. He remembers the taste of sea salt on his lips and wind in his hair. He felt free, he admits. So far away from court life, Arthur remembers feeling human for once and not immortal.

He claims he’s seen mermaids once. Kiku won’t believe him no matter how many times he tries to convince him. It ends with Arthur poking Kiku’s side to tease him, and Kiku laughs. It’s the first time Arthur actually gets him to laugh and they’re both pleasantly surprised.

And maybe that was why, Kiku mused. Maybe that’s why he liked hearing about Arthur. Their alliance was amicable, sure, and politically favorable. But it was even more then that; more than England and more than appearances. Kiku wanted to hear about Arthur. All his likes and dislikes, his fears and dreams. And every bit of information he got, he treasured it. Arthur loves the sea, but he can’t swim. He hates the taste of wine, but he’ll have it if he can’t get anything else. He prefers a bow to a sword. He’s a closet romantic despite himself. He likes the idea of romance; the only thing he hates about being immortal is that he can’t get married.

He can’t hate anything else because he’s never experienced it. He can’t miss things he’s never understood, after all.

It’s the middle of the night again, and they can’t sleep. Maybe they’ve made up that excuse by now; who knows. They’re drinking tea on Kiku’s veranda, and the world is quiet. Arthur’s talking about the first time he ever sat for a portrait. He’s getting Kiku to laugh because of all his snarky commentary. In the back of his mind, Kiku’s trying to figure out why Arthur fascinates him so. There’s so much to a man, Kiku is realizing, and there’s still so much of Arthur to read. He doesn’t want to look away. Kiku wants to be lost in him until the world ends.

(The idea brings an ashamed blush to his cheeks.)

“You know,” Arthur says, “I’ve taken up painting again.”

“Have you?”

“Mm.” Arthur hums, taking a sip of his tea. He flinches and blows on it some. The moment is cute to Kiku. “Remember the last time I was here?”

Of course Kiku remembers. It was a long visit, so there’s not one moment he could pinpoint. They all meant a lot to him.

“That pottery you showed me. With the flowers? I tried to recreate the colors and lines.” Arthur smiles, self-satisfied, “I’ll show you it the next time you visit.”

Kiku’s heart stops. It does a happy little jump, and Kiku feels so young then. When he showed Arthur parts of himself he wasn’t expecting for it to return to him. He feels he’s getting ahead of himself, so he talks in an attempt to ground himself.

“I-I didn’t realize you liked it that much.”

“Of course I did! Your craftsmanship is beautiful.”

Kiku gulps and looks away. He feels incredibly humbled. He had grown used to the idea of hearing about Arthur, but he wasn’t expecting to hear about himself. As if reading a book, Kiku found his own name written on the pages and he was flattered but confused. He doesn’t want to become too happy, because he was someone who was used to giving himself to others and not receiving. But before he knew it, Arthur had become tinged with his color and he had hope. He’s beginning to realize what he wants, what he’s hoping for, and Kiku wants to say he’s horrified. He should be.

But even Arthur made the idea of love shine all the more.

Kiku will worry about the rest later. Instead, he gives Arthur a smile, and thanks him for his compliment. For once, Arthur doesn’t relate to him how he feels. He’s too embarrassed to say he finds Kiku’s smile beautiful.

Kiku doesn’t know yet just how much he will appear in Arthur’s story. He doesn’t know yet just how deep the dye will go. But for now, it’s fine. For now, their own shared story has yet to begin. 


	3. Us, in the Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene of Arthur and Kiku in the morning. Arthur struggles with his insecurities.

“I don’t know.” Kiku shrugs, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, “I suppose I’m not opposed to going out for breakfast. If you want to, I don’t mind.”

Arthur watches him from the cozy bedsheets, Kiku hunched over his laptop, wearing only a baggy a sweater and boxers. The cigarette smoke curls until it reaches the ceiling. Outside, the morning is dewy, barely awake, and the curtains are closed behind Kiku. Kiku sniffs, and keeps scrolling down on whatever page he was half-paying attention to.

“I just don’t feel like cooking right now is all. Do you?”

“Mm.” Kiku half responds, and takes a moment to answer, “I wouldn’t mind that either.”

Arthur blinks, and brings the blankets around him closer. They still smell like detergent and them. He remembers them doing the laundry yesterday, and he remembers them cuddling last night, their pillow talk. Arthur finds himself growing to love Kiku’s new studio apartment. Kiku had said it was an impulse buy, a solution to his ever growing frustration of having to spend money on hotel rooms in the city. But Arthur likes it nonetheless, emotional buy or not. They had enough money to spend anyway. He watches Kiku, and all his angles and all his folds. The way his sweater fell on him was nice, they way it bunched up at the elbows, and how it fell from his shoulder blades. It was baggy for someone small like Kiku, and Arthur admired how it fit him. His knees were bony and his legs were long and pale. He looked so comfortable to Arthur, so peaceful. And yet there’s a part of him that reminded him of paintings at museums, of things behind glass. Something felt stagnant in the air, and it was visually enriching and yet emotionally dull.

For some reason, Arthur’s stomach begins to hurt. He’s trying to undo the knots, but he doesn’t know where to begin and he’s more worried why it’s there.

“It just makes more sense to me. When was the last time we went out?”

“Where would you want to go?”

Arthur thinks for a moment. Kiku is still looking at his laptop screen, taking a puff from his cigarette and blowing it out slowly. His attention was half on Arthur, he knew that. And Arthur couldn’t fault him for that, so he knew that wasn’t the cause of his pain. There was something in how they woke up, there was something in how they were together now. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he could rightly say he didn’t feel comfortable right now. There was a primal part of him that was saying to leave, or else. But why did he want to run?

“I don’t know.” He shifts, “I liked that place near the station.”

Kiku leans back in his chair. He’s still not looking at him.

“ _Magnolia_?”

“Sorry?”

“Do you mean  _Magnolia_?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Arthur is still watching his profile. He wants to like what he sees, but he feels tense and unhappy. They haven’t fought, he knows that. Arthur’s stay so far had been nice and cordial and sweet. Nothing’s changed, but something feels wrong with him. Something internal and unnameable and vague. It frustrates him that he can’t give it a name, and he’s mad at himself more than he’s mad at Kiku. He should be happy. That’s just the normal thing to do.

“I thought you didn’t like the service there.”

“I don’t?”

“You said they tend to be forgetful.”

“Oh,” Arthur recalls, “Right.”

Arthur wants to tell Kiku he doesn’t care about that right now, and to be honest, he was just nitpicking as always. Arthur’s well-aware how hypercritical he could be, and he knows at times it could be meaningless and petty. He thought Kiku knew that about him; he’s sad he didn’t. In the end, Arthur realizes it didn’t really matter to him where he wanted to go. He just wanted to go out with Kiku.

Something was missing. Something was coming back to Arthur, and he felt anxious seeing it in the distance.

“I don’t really care, honestly.”

“That’s fine.” Kiku leans forward, typing something, “Let me just finish up here.”

“What’re you doing?”

Kiku takes the cigarette out again, holding it between his fingers. Arthur’s struck by how angular his jaw is as he speaks. “They’re emails for work. I’ll be done in a moment.”

Arthur knows to be patient. Kiku was always incredibly patient with him, so he should do the same. He watches his wrist as he types, at its edges, and Arthur loves its sharp curves. He tries to focus on that, but watching him from afar was making him sad. His anxieties have an answer then, and he realizes what was wrong. Kiku felt so far away; physically and emotionally. And Arthur felt silly, so silly, because it wasn’t even that major a distance and it wasn’t even a consistent problem. It was just, at that moment, he was strongly feeling that distance between them and it was bothering him. He was so sensitive, he scolded himself. But if he went deeper into it, he began remembering something sadder. Perhaps it was not the moment itself, but how it served as a reminder. He closes his eyes, and he can picture something clearer. It’s not one event in the past, but a series of images that said much more.

It was Kiku on his porch, giving delayed and unfeeling responses in 1920. He wouldn’t look at Arthur.

It was Kiku, staring at a piece of paper he had finished signing. Sitting at both of his sides are Francis and Alfred. Kiku is still avoiding Arthur’s gaze.

A battlefield. A blank stare, a final gaze that is nothing Arthur had wanted. His face is dirty and the world is dark.

Hospital room. A window Kiku was looking out of. He’s in a wheelchair and when Arthur talks he won’t respond. Weeks later, he will finally say something to Arthur.

He ask him if it feels good to stand there like that. He asks him if it makes him feel strong.

(Sometimes Arthur still hears those words in his darkest and most insecure nightmares.)

And Arthur has apologized many times over and is willing to apologize many times again in the coming years. It has been decades since those times. They had moved past it a long time ago. They have forgiven and won’t forget. They have become stronger because of this. Arthur is happy that Kiku was able to see the ugliest parts of him and say it’s okay. He’s happy he can do the same for him. 

And yet, perhaps it was a long road. Maybe he was still walking. And so recognizing even a small semblance of it made him worry. He was in the past again, helpless, sorry, and yet all the more needy.

“Kiku.” He says, trying to ground himself.

“Just a moment.”

“ _Kiku_.”

Kiku stops, and turns to look at him. Even Arthur is surprised at how suddenly his voice began to crack, at how small he sounded. Instantly, Kiku looks worried.

“Arthur,” he says, dropping honorifics, treating the moment delicately, “what’s wrong?”

Arthur tries to answer him. He doesn’t know where to start. The idea of it even seemed ridiculous to him, about why he felt sad. His old coping mechanisms were still trying to kick in, trying to tell him to not say anything and to run away. It was trying to tell him to rely on his own self again and to stop baring his soul to people and to stop trusting others altogether. It was incredibly tempting to fall into those ideas again. Arthur had gone his whole life just like that, and he didn’t see any problem to pick up where he left off.

But he watches Kiku. He wants him to be different. He wants to trust him. He loves him so terribly and so he wanted to keep taking those stupid risks. Filled with those thoughts, and his previous insecurities, he feels himself begin to tear up.

(He’s so scared, of so many things.)

“Don’t go.”

It was vague and it didn’t explain anything. But Kiku doesn’t venture further and he snuffs out his cigarette. He walks to Arthur, and kneels besides the bed, his eyes soft and his voice quiet.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Kiku softly shushes him. He brushes Arthur’s hair out of his face, and Arthur feels himself on the verge of tears. He takes a deep shaky sigh, and looks down. Kiku’s hand is cool as always, and Arthur takes comfort in that.

“I just need you here.”

“Alright.”

Arthur frowns, and he wonders just how absurd he looks right now. He feels like covering himself in the blankets just to disappear, and he feels bad for making Kiku go through this whole charade. He was always went out of the way for people, and for Arthur to add himself to that tally made him feel cruel.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you, I just…I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“I’m quite used to it.” Kiku chuckles softly, “Please don’t worry.”

If asked on the spot for Arthur to name one thing he liked about Kiku, he would find it hard to pinpoint only one thing. But it can be said that one of the first things he would think of is his unwavering patience. Because Arthur was someone who needed not only a lot of attention and care, but also a lot of endurance. Arthur is eternally grateful for Kiku’s patience to give that sort of care. Even now, he was still wishing he could repay that kindness tenfold.

“Do you want to talk?”

Arthur blinks out tears and takes Kiku’s hand in his own, “Not right now.”

“We can go out for breakfast.” Kiku suggests, kissing the back of Arthur’s hand, “And we can talk after. Is that alright?”

“I love you.”

He wishes it sounded as powerfully as he felt. Arthur still felt he was lacking somewhere, like he hasn’t fully repaid his debts or he wasn’t enough for someone like Kiku. He’s trying to be enough, and perhaps that stubborn part of him was shaming him for wanting that at the same time. It was all incredibly complex but he couldn’t stop himself from talking.

“I love you, too.”

“Don’t go, Kiku.” Arthur chokes out, ashamed of this begging, “Please don’t leave.”

Kiku wipes at Arthur’s tears with his free hand, and he studies him for a moment. Kiku was always a hard read, but with time Arthur had found he could pick up on small nuances here and there. He was surprised when he didn’t have to, however. Kiku smiled.

“I don’t want to.”

And it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was all so easy and simple but it felt like enough. He smiles back, and there’s still some part of him that feels self conscious. But Kiku was there; he was present and he was close. Arthur was needy but he felt at ease then. He knows he needs too much. He knows he can be pathetic. But at least, at the very least, he wasn’t alone. Right now, he wasn’t alone. Right now, he is forgiven and the past was in the past and he was here.

And the best part was that Kiku was there with him. 


	4. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written from the 'family' prompt during the asakikuweek event on Tumblr. I ran with the idea of Kiku and Arthur’s established family, mostly Yao and Alfred. Their situations always seemed similar to me: a younger brother who betrays the elder. So I wrote it.

_> I’m just not happy these days._

Arthur stared at the text message on his phone. Kiku has never been so blunt with him.

 Immediately, alarm bells were ringing in his head. Arthur remained curled up in his bed, a half read book at his side, abandoned, and he waited for a continuation, an explanation, anything. He considered writing something back, something encouraging but pushy, but he didn’t. Arthur, insecure and selfish person he was, began to panic. Was it him? Had he said something? After a minute, Kiku finally responded.

 _> It’s not you. _He added, as if reading Arthur’s mind _, I just feel troubled._

_> I’m sorry. Please forget about it._

They had been seeing each other for years now, enough time that would outlast humans. Arthur was used to these chase arounds with Kiku. His lover had always been a selfless and patient person. He hated causing trouble. And while Arthur had gotten him to a point where he stopped being ashamed of showing his happiness, he was still working on getting him to be honest in his weaker moments. So Arthur, well learnt in the language Kiku spoke (not Japanese, but his own personality entirely) was able to see that Kiku wanted permission to continue.

_> Tell me. I want to help._

Arthur waited patiently as Kiku typed out his response. He turned over on his back, the cool and chilly night keeping him awake anyway. Kiku should be getting home from work at this time, he knew. He must be riding the train, a briefcase on his lap, surrounded by sleepy commuters. At this point, Arthur knew the time differences by heart. Arthur’s cat jumped on his bed, the Scottish fold curling up somewhere on the opposite side of the bed. Arthur stretched a lazy hands toward him, scratching the top of his head, when his phone buzzed again. It was surprisingly short, and Arthur guessed Kiku had typed and erased a multitude of messages before deciding on one.

_> I’ve been thinking about some things from my past. May I see you soon?_

Arthur was simultaneously worried and touched. He was happy that he could talk to him in person about it, because he was confident he may be more helpful that way. So resolved, and concerned, Arthur responded  _Of course._

–

They met a week later, a meeting that coincided with business Kiku had in England anyway. It was a happy coincidence and when Arthur picked Kiku up at the airport, they dispelled pleasantries as Arthur carried his bags for him. They only got truly intimate later on in the car. Arthur parked them alongside the road and he had held him gently. Kiku teared up, and Arthur gave him a moment to himself as he rubbed his back.

Arthur knew not to do this in public, because he knew such public displays of affection made Kiku feel uncomfortable. That was not what he needed now. Kiku didn’t cry however. Kiku didn’t burst out into tears and have a break down. That’s not what his sadness was like. Later on, when they were having lunch, he apologized for his behavior, but Arthur would hear none of it. Kiku was happy for a moment. He felt in control again.

They finally talked about it later that evening. Arthur was making them dinner, his cat weaving around Kiku’s ankles as he sat at the table. Kiku watched his white and orange back as Arthur told a story about his politicians and this annoying thing they did, or how Francis had pissed him off earlier this week, and so on. Arthur’s stories were always complaining about something. It was just his way. Kiku reached out and grabbed the cat. It dumbly hung in his grip as he held it up, holding it to his chest. Finally, Kiku spoke.

“I think I’ve realized I’m a bad person.”

Silence fell upon the kitchen. The cat meowed, and Kiku scratches under his chin.

“Why do you say that?” Arthur finally asked. Getting Kiku to open up was a tricky thing. You had to do it just right, or he’d withdraw immediately, starting the process all over again.

“Well, perhaps I’m being too general about it.” Kiku continued, his voice steady and normal, as if he was commenting on the weather, “I just realized I’ve done some terrible things in my past. And I’m beginning to feel guilty.”

“Kiku, we’re nations.” Arthur shrugs, “None of us are pure. We’ve all been devils one point in our lives. I know I’ve done some terrible things.”

“I know that. Yet…I wish to make up for it.”

“That’d be a lot of people to apologize to. How old are you again?”

“There’s only one person I want to apologize to.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything for a moment. The cat struggles in Kiku’s grip, and Kiku puts it down. Arthur has to keep pushing.

“Who is it?”

Kiku remains quiet.

“Were they mortal?”

“No.”

Arthur blinks. He turns and looks at Kiku, who is staring in front of himself, withdrawn and lost. He was somewhere Arthur couldn’t reach him now. It scared him.

“Kiku?”

“It’s Yao-san.”

 _Oh._  And suddenly it all makes sense to Arthur.

“It must sound strange.” Kiku leans forward, arms crossed on the table. He refuses to look at Arthur. “I’ve done some terrible things. I haven’t apologized for any of them. Why would I feel guilt now? Do I have any right to feel guilt? I…I’ve been thinking about this lately.”

Kiku sighs loudly. He leans his head against his hand, and closes his eyes in frustration. Arthur knows to let him vent, and so he focuses back on the meal he’s making. It’s  automatic and easy for him. He can still intently listen to him.

“Yet that’s not the most twisted part. No, I hate to admit it, but there’s a part of me that proves me right.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a part of me that thinks I don’t need to apologize at all.”

Arthur’s quiet. He lowers the flame, and the beef mixture begins to simmer. It’ll take an hour or so. He has time.

“Was that bad of me to say?” Kiku blurts out. Arthur shrugs.

“It was shocking, but I don’t hate you. It would be silly if I expected you to be a saint all the time.”

Kiku feels a small ounce of relief. He’s not completely cured, but it was a step. He jumps when he feels Arthur’s hand on his shoulder.

“Should we continue this in the living room? Dinner will take awhile.”

Kiku agrees. He ends up sitting on the opposite end of the couch, legs stretched out. Arthur wants to hold him. It just seemed like the thing to do. But he keeps being patient.

“It’s hard to explain.” Kiku continues, “I know what I did was cruel. But it’s also how I got to where I am now.”

“When were you cruel?”

“The first time I lashed out at him. The first time I rebelled.”

Arthur watches him. Despite himself, he’s beginning to take it personally.

“I hurt him. I know that. But it was also something I needed to do.”

“Well, you’re right. You didn’t need to be cruel about it.”

“No I…I had no choice. I was in a spot where I had to prove something.”

“To who?”

“To me.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. It’s starting to hit home. It’s starting to sound familiar.

“That’s fine and all, but it doesn’t change the fact that you hurt him.”

Kiku stops. There’s an edge to Arthur’s voice, something that takes a side, something unhelpful and bitter. He looks up at him, frowning. Dissatisfied.

“You’re taking his side.”

“Kiku don’t turn this into a fight.”

“I’m not the one who did.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and slumps on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The smell of stewing beef comes faintly from the kitchen and he’s suddenly annoyed.

“Look,” Arthur throws his hands up, “All I’m saying is that yes. Yes, you did a shitty thing.”

“But it’s also an important part of my past.”

“But it also hurt someone.”

“Are you angry with me?”

Arthur thinks about it. Is he? He’s angry at something, but to say it’s specifically Kiku would be wrong. To say it was specifically anything would be wrong. It would be so much easier to just continue lashing out but he wanted to figure it out too. It was just that reasoning that was pissing him off. Something underneath his skin that was being picked at and dug up and shoved in his face. He shifts in his seat.

“You’re just reminding me of someone.”

“Alfred-san?”

Arthur visibly flinched. It was a low blow, but it was honest. Now, Kiku knows his feelings on that matter. Arthur himself is still aching from that first betrayal and he may just continue aching for a long time. He doesn’t hate Alfred, and he doesn’t hurt from it as much as he did before. But it still left scars and a guarded demeanor and suspicion that Arthur may never outgrow. That was just the thing with broken hearts. You never learn to be so naive ever again.

(That’s not to say just romantically. It wasn’t a romantic heart break. But when your treasured brother gets you to a point where you’re crying at his feet, well yeah that’s the same fucking feeling.)

Without thinking, Arthur grabs his cigarette pack from the coffee table, and lights up. Kiku watches him with a cold gaze. He needed something to keep him busy. It was funny, he always got antsy when this topic came up between them.

“You know how I get when you bring that up.”

Not Alfred, Kiku knows. Just that time between them.

“Is that why you think I’m heartless?” Kiku asks. Arthur blows out a billow of smoke. The house smells foul now, but Kiku doesn’t say anything.

“You can’t just excuse it away by saying ‘It meant a lot to me’” Arthur went on, “You hurt him. You probably hurt him a lot.”

“I know.”

“So it’s not gonna be just easy to say sorry and make peace with yourself.”

“Arthur-san.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Arthur-san. I’m not America.”

Arthur stops. There’s a low simmer in the bottom of his belly. There’s a part of him that wants to scream, a part that feels his mind is too crowded. He takes in another breath of smoke. As he slowly lets it go, he hears Kiku sigh loudly.

“I’m sorry.” he says tiredly, “Perhaps this is a bad conversation. Let’s drop it.”

“Do you see me as Yao?”

Kiku snaps to attention. He looks to Arthur, shocked. But Arthur’s still there, hunched over, a cigarette between his fingers. It was as if he had solved the puzzle. It all made sense, finally, and Kiku felt truth to his words. He suddenly feels small there, in that living room, and bare. He felt fragile. He should be scared, but he’s not.

Because he still loves Arthur.

“I’m sorry,” Kiku says again, but it feels more honest this time, more careful. Arthur nods.

“I should be saying that. I guess I began projecting him on you, but…but it’s really similar right?” Arthur laughs bitterly, “Who knows. Maybe that’s a part of being a nation. You have to stab your family in the back at least once.”

Kku grins. The humor’s dark, but it’s Arthur’s and that’s why he liked it.

“You should start being more cautious around Peter,” Kiku added. Arthur grins, and Kiku sees behind this fog of tension that his Arthur is still there. Kiku holds his hand out, and Arthur considers him.

“Can I have a smoke?” Kiku asks. Without word, Arthur hands him the pack, and lights it for him. It’s intimate if just a bit awkward. Kiku leans back, and savours the taste of the tobacco. It’s bitter, but Arthur did always love bitter.

“I just want him to understand. Or maybe I want forgiveness. Maybe I really am being selfish?” Kiku goes on, “I had my reasons, is what I’m saying. And perhaps I just want to be told that’s ok.”

“Well,” Arthur considers, “it wasn’t. I mean, it was cruel. Then again, I can see where you’re coming from.” Arthur closes his eyes, tilts his head back, “Alfred must’ve been coming from the same place.”

“We just wanted to prove ourselves. We just wanted to make a place for ourselves. We wanted freedom.”

“We weren’t giving you it.” Arthur finishes, and his voice is barely a whisper. Kiku watches him. Something big has happened just now, something very personal for Arthur. He’s quiet for a long moment. Kiku wants to talk him through it, but he knows Arthur would come in time. Because being in a relationship wasn’t healing them, it was being there as they healed.

And to be honest, Kiku was feeling something then too. Someone understood. He felt better. He wasn’t forgiven but he was heard. Maybe that was all he needed right now.

“Man,” Arthur breaks the silence, “what a shitty situation for everyone involved.”

Kiku laughs. Arthur is looking back at him, smiling. He looked wise then, calm. The storm had passed. Arthur leans forward and takes Kiku in his own. Kiku feels his heart skip a beat.

“But Kiku, you’re not Alfred.” Arthur clarifies, “You were never Alfred to me.”

Kiku feels himself tear up. He closes his hand around Arthur’s.

“You were never Yao, either.”

And nothing was perfect, but everything was understood. That was all they needed right now. Kiku tries to blink away the tears, but Arthur brushes them away for him. Kiku begins to cry, but then he laughs.

“Arthur-san, I’m sorry,” he tries to stifle it, “but can we order something for dinner?”

“Why?” Arthur makes a face, “You don’t want kidney pie?”

“It smells horrible.”

“It does not!”

Kiku can’t help it. He explodes in laughter and tears, and pulls Arthur closer for an embrace. Arthur pouts in it, saying how Kiku used to love his cooking. The misunderstandings and Kiku’s depressive mood is gone. All feels better now, and perhaps there wasn’t a fairy tale resolution but there was acceptance. When Kiku kissed Arthur for forgiveness, he realized just how lucky he was right now.

He was terrible. That’s true. But at least he had someone who still loved him despite that. 


	5. Just Thought It'd be Nice if We Could Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High School AU. This was written for the prompt of best friend's sibling AU. Kiku is starting to notice Alfred's older brother.

Kiku only caught glimpses of Arthur here and there. He was almost like an elusive animal, shy and mysterious.

And incredibly rude.

“You know mum said you were banned from that, right?”

Alfred tenses up besides Kiku, and Kiku tenses up for a different reason entirely. He looks back with Alfred, turning away from the paused horror movie in front of them, Alfred’s TV screen catching a poor victim in mid chase.

“Yeah, that was weeks ago?” Alfred shot back, just a bit of apprehension in his voice. Kiku takes the time to examine Arthur. He stands in the bedroom doorway, a mug of hot tea in his hand, a look of exasperation on his face. Kiku wondered if Arthur ever looked comfortable or happy. The only times he ever saw Alfred’s half brother was with a look that only said he was put down on this god forsaken Earth, being simultaneously too good for it and with no way of escape.

He slides his eyes over to Kiku, and Kiku looks away. He suddenly finds the movie posters on Alfred’s walls incredibly interesting, and tries to act as such.

“You get nightmares, you know that. God, fine.” Arthur sighs, “I warned you.”

He walks away, all holier-than-thou grace. Alfred immediately gets up and slams his bedroom door shut.

“Ugh, he thinks he knows everything. Christ.”

“I’m sorry. I was the one who suggested we watch this-”

“No, no!” Alfred smiles, “Dude, don’t worry about him. He’s just being uptight. I’ve been wanting to watch this thing anyway.”

Kiku is fine with it for awhile, and they go back to watching the horror movie. Kiku likes Alfred well enough, his friend. He came over all the time to play video games, to watch movies, to do all the stupid things teen boys did. And yet, Kiku thinks to himself, he found it odd how he had been coming over to Alfred’s house for the past year and he’d only seen Arthur so many times. Outwardly, he’s watching the movie with Alfred, but his mind is wandering. It was caught on Arthur, and he couldn’t get his mind off of it.

All he knew about the situation was this: Arthur and Alfred had two different mothers. (Alfred also had a twin brother, but that was neither here nor there.) They got along fine until Arthur grew up and then in Alfred’s words he became: “Such a hardass, I don’t know.” Their relationship was ok, not great, but still.

Kiku doesn’t know why he thinks about him so much. He’s seen him around school. He probably doesn’t even know Kiku other than ‘Alfred’s friend he keeps bringing over’. But still, he wondered. A change in a person was so interesting to Kiku, and he felt something resonating.

He shrugs it off. Maybe he’s just being nosey.

Alfred visibly shivers next to Kiku, and covers his eyes during a particularly gruesome scene. The next day he tells Kiku all about a nightmare he has, and Kiku smiles to himself.

He wonders what Arthur would’ve said.

* * *

Kiku begins to pick up pieces here and there of the glimpses he saw of Arthur. It was strange, almost like a backseat hobby. It was kept in the back of his mind without his conscious need or decision. He just remembered these things. He would note the small things about him: Arthur always drank Earl Grey tea (he knew this from the tag hanging from his mugs he was always drinking from). He was good in English class (he knew this from an offhand comment Alfred made once). He listened to a lot of punk music (the shirts he always wore at home).

He smoked, but neither his parents nor Alfred knew. He saw him at a party once, on the porch, smoking. Kiku spotted him through the window, from the spot he made himself on the wall, a place where he was looking at his phone and hiding from social interaction. Somewhere in the living room, Alfred was playing beer pong, and Kiku considered joining him. But there was Arthur, all sharp shoulders, and smoke floating into the sky. His back was turned to him, and Kiku wondered if Alfred even knew he was here. He wondered if he even knew he smoked.

Kiku wanted to go out there. He wanted to talk one on one with him. He doesn’t know why. He imagined it would be awkward and Arthur’s British accent would catch on his words. It would smell like smoke. Kiku didn’t even like the smell of smoke.

He almost went out there.

But just as he was pocketing his phone, someone bumps up besides Arthur, and Arthur looks to the person. He sneers, and takes the beer offered to him. Kiku tried to see who it was. Francis Bonnefoy? Were they friends? Francis laughs and Arthur says something back. He offers him a cigarette and they stay on the porch together, smoking. Talking.

The image of the cigarette pack in Arthur’s hand, a smoke offered out, it sticks with Kiku. For some reason it hurts him. He turns his phone screen back on and looks down, distracting himself. Why does it hurt?

When he looks back up, they’re gone.

* * *

Kiku’s looking up at a movie concession stand menu. Besides him, Alfred is weighing his options. He’s making humming and hawing sounds like it’ll help.

“I dunno, like, I can drink a slushie, but should I?”

Kiku already knows he will. He’d comment, but he’s somewhere else right now. He’s looking forward to the movie (a superhero movie, Alfred’s favorite). He’s just emotionally, somewhere else.

“Hey, Kiku, do you want candy in the popcorn? M&Ms?”

Kiku smiles. He nods, and he likes how Alfred asked. He’s a good friend, he realizes, he likes being with him here. He looks down to the line, looking nowhere in particular. He gulps.

“Alfred-san?”

“Hm?”

“I…” Kiku coughs, “can I ask something?”

“What you want jalapenos instead? I told you I can’t stand that stuff.”

“No,” Kiku almost laughs, “It’s just…Arthur-san.”

“What about him?”

“Is he dating anyone?”

He just says it outright. He almost regrets it, his face flushes in shame. He doesn’t even know where they question comes from, but subconsciously he realizes. He wants to tell Alfred to forget about it, but thankfully Alfred doesn’t get it.

“No? I don’t think so?” Alfred stops. “Why?”

Kiku thinks back on that offered cigarette. He remembers Francis’ blue eyes. He’s trying to solve a puzzle, but he gives up.

“No reason.” He lies, and dodges all questions shot at him. Alfred’s face visibly paled when he realized. No, Kiku, he told him. You can do so much better. Kiku is blushing as Alfred pleads with him, and Kiku ignores him when he pushes it too far. Alfred makes it up to him by buying him a slushie that’s way too sweet.

He accepts because that was just how Alfred was.

* * *

A few weeks later, Kiku spends the night at Alfred’s house. They spend the time playing three different video games, Kiku kicks his ass a consecutive seventeen times in those games, and they eat all the sorts of junk food they know they shouldn’t. Kiku wakes up at three AM with a sore stomach, and he can’t go back to sleep. He yawns when he gets back up, his eyes are burning. Alfred snores from his bed, and Kiku is the sleepy sort of miserable where he just wants go back to bed.

He’s thirsty. He’s in that awkward spot where he doesn’t want to go walking around his friend’s house while he’s asleep. He’d feel like an intruder. But Kiku realizes he wasn’t going to get anywhere like this.

Tea. He needed tea. He thinks this because Yao always made him a cup when he was a kid growing up. He knows they have some because of Arthur. He reasoned with himself it’d only take a few minutes, so he goes to the kitchen. He’s strangely careful, and he feels he’s breaking so many unsaid rules. He’s not, of course, but that was the weird thing about manners. They were critically important and yet so strangely vague.

He puts the pot on to boil and searches the cupboard. He tries not to move too much stuff, and gingerly pushes aside spices and blend. He’s tense for no reason, and jumps when he hears someone clear their throat behind him. Kiku looks back, and there’s Arthur in the moonlight, hair messy, clothes wrinkled.

“What are you doing?” He asks flatly.

Kiku’s heart is pounding. He turns red despite himself, and motions frantically to the stove. “I-I’m sorry, I was just, just making tea, I-”

“Calm down,” Arthur laughed, “I was just coming down for some myself.”

Kiku’s breath catches in his throat when he approaches him. He reaches besides him, and takes out the box of tea. He looks up, and Kiku can’t believe how beautiful his eyes are.

“Are you ok with Earl Grey?”

Kiku nods. He feels like the world had just turned upside down, his knees are going weak. He was there. He didn’t understand why he was so amazed by this, of course he was there. But Kiku was so used to glimpses and glances, but there was Arthur, in front of him. He tries to calm himself.

“I didn’t know you drank tea.” Arthur mentions, and Kiku watches him take mugs down from another cupboard, setting up their tea.

“Is that strange?”

“It’s just, you’re so different from Alfred, it’s strange to me.” Arthur looks up at him. “Kiku, right?”

Kiku nods. He remembered his name. Kiku was finding himself proven wrong, and he almost felt lost. Arthur was being kind. Arthur remembered him. Kiku felt like he didn’t need anything more from this moment. That this was enough.

“I’m surprised you remembered me.” Kiku mentions casually, “I realize I don’t talk a lot.”

“You make an impression.”

“Ah, I…” Kiku trails off, flattered. He decides to change the topic, “I’m surprised you’re up this late.”

“Insomnia.” Arthur shrugs. Kiku is surprised to hear about this, and interested. He wants to hear more about him, to collect more facts on this person. You’re always at the edge of my mind, Kiku thinks. He’s beginning to piece together something. He asks for permission first.

“Is something bothering you?”

Arthur stares at him quizzically. He fakes a smile, “It’s nothing you’d want to hear about. It’s just stress.” he waves it off, “It’s really not important.”

“I don’t mind.” Kiku mutters, “That is…I don’t mean to pry.”

“You’re strange, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a bad thing.”

The house is quiet, and the kitchen is blue from moonlight. Kiku feels as if he’s in a dream now, and he’s strangely happy right now. What a comforting thing to say. Arthur was continuing to be a person who intrigued him, and he smiled to him.

“To be honest, you’re the same.”

Arthur blushes. He’s about to say something, but the pot whistles and they both jump at the break in tension. Arthur laughs, and Kiku can’t help but smile.

“It always does that at the worst time, I can never prepare for it.” He mentions, grinning, steam rising as he pours their tea. Kiku wonders if he should just take his and excuse himself.

“You can drink it with me.” Arthur shrugs, “I mean, to be honest, I think this is the only time I’ve gotten you alone. I mean…I don’t mind. I guess.”

Kiku’s heart is jumping. He had been watching him. Arthur doesn’t look at him when he suggested this, and to be honest, Kiku is fine with this. It was a start. It was something. He had so many questions, and the thought of being alone with this person was thrilling. He had been so elusive and now he was so available.

It was a rare moment, and Kiku didn’t think about reasons or anything of the like. Sometimes, it just had to be.

“I’d like that.”

They spend that night talking, and Arthur was more than gruff exterior and pride. He was more than hidden cigarettes and band shirts. Kiku finds it funny how even with the veil pulled back, he was still interested in what was there. Looking at his profile, Kiku realizes he’s attracted to this person. He hopes he was just as interesting to him.

 

(Months later, he would find out the feeling was mutual.)


	6. Are You Jealous?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiku agrees to go out drinking with everyone and Arthur can't help but notice how different he's acting.

Arthur knew something wasn’t right when Kiku replied toFrancis’ offer with a cool and passive “Of course I will.”

Kiku was as social as he needed to be, Arthur knew that. He wasn’t distant, per se, he was just more suited to entertaining guests one on one rather than joining a large group and getting lost in the moment. Kiku liked paying attention to people; he remembered he admitted this to Arthur sometime during their alliance. So Arthur found it bizarre when Kiku, in the present day, agreed to Francis’ invitation of going out to drink with what was the rest of Europe after work.

Now, that’s not to say Kiku never did this. It was just that he always stuck with the smaller group of Ludwig, Feliciano, and himself. So he found himself perplexed as he drove his car to their usual bar as Alfred and Francis chatted with Kiku in the back seat. Perhaps he’s trying a change of pace, Arthur guessed. To be honest, it was none of his business about what Kiku chose to do with his life, and it wasn’t as if he’d ever truly know anyway.

(He’d lost that right long ago, in a time that already meant so little to them.)

Yet at the bar he still found himself looking for Kiku in the corner of his eye. It was absurd, really, it wasn’t as if he was responsible for Kiku or had to know what he was doing. Yet he felt himself choked with concern. This wasn’t like him. And he drank ale after ale as he traded barbs with Francis, as he vented politics to Matthew. Yet no matter what, he still found himself looking for Kiku in the room, and he found him here or there.  He chatted with Heracles, a sweating glass in his hand, or he laughed at a joke Feliciano told. Arthur felt strangely lonely then. They’ve never been in a situation like this before, but to be fair, they were only acquaintances, business partners really, and nothing more. He remembers a time where he would enter a room with his hand on Kiku’s shoulder, with Kiku’s arm around his own, and yet that was so long ago. Arthur takes another swig to wash it all down.

(They were just so powerful back then and it wasn’t even any real power, there was no military might. But together, they felt they could take on the world.)

In the middle of everything, Arthur is too buzzed to notice someone clearing their throat. He catches on after the third try, and spinning around he’s faced with Kiku and Arthur’s heart stopped.

It had been so long since he’s been so close. He had gotten used to seeing Kiku from across rooms and meeting tables that he was caught off guard by this. His cheeks were flushed, and there was a strange faded look to his eyes. It was then Arthur noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

“My apologies,” he spoke, voice slightly sleepy, “May I have this seat?”

Arthur looked to the empty stool next to him, and he already forgot who had been sitting there. Roderich perhaps, or Gilbert. One of the Germans. It didn’t matter.

“Yes, go right ahead.”

Kiku slid into the seat, nursing another glass in his hand, and already Arthur smelt the stinging smell of alcohol. He was noticeably stooped over, and Arthur realized Kiku was most likely drunk.

“You alright there?” He asked, taking another sip himself. Kiku smiles politely, in the way Arthur knows was fake.

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern. I simply felt rude for having ignored you.”

Arthur was flattered. He pushed it down by telling himself it was not Kiku talking, but the alcohol.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t notice,” Arthur laughed to himself, (it was a lie, he did a little), “I’m just surprised you’re here at all. You don’t usually come out to these things.”

“I admit, it’s a lot to keep up with.”

“Isn’t it? It’s much easier when we’re at war; less socializing to do.”

Kiku laughs. Arthur always liked how well he received his sarcastic humor. It made him feel a little less horrible.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Kiku smiles into his drink, watching it, but not drinking, “However, I do feel a little more lonely tonight.”

“Lonely?”

Kiku pauses, and for a moment Arthur thinks he fell asleep. But Kiku looks ahead of him, perhaps to his reflection in the mirrored bar, and his voice is surprisingly even and sad.

“I suppose I’m being a bit dishonest to myself tonight. I thought if I tried hard enough, I wouldn’t need anything else. But I haven’t realized I didn’t really belong there at all.”

Arthur tries to decipher Kiku’s words, but just as anything is with him, there were too many layers. Arthur decides Kiku’s just drunk, and he entertains the notion for a bit.

“Belong where?”

“By someone’s side.”

“Oh?” Arthur perks up, “Who?”

“I simply realized I’m not important to them anymore, and I’m not in their future.”

“Kiku, you’re not making sense.”

Kiku turns to Arthur then, not lifting his head, but his body is facing towards him. He looks even sadder and Arthur hates him in this place. The room was too loud and crowded for Kiku to look so sad, and Arthur felt like carrying him out of there and embracing him until it all went away.

(He blames the alcohol again.)

“Arthur-san, in this room, who do you believe is the strongest?” Kiku speaks again, eyes still downcast.

“Now, Kiku, you can’t go asking me political questions after I had a few drinks.”

Kiku cracks a smile, and Arthur’s a little relieved he was able to ease the tension.

“What I mean is, who do you believe has the strongest personality?”

Arthur looks around the room, over the many heads, and he spots Alfred gesturing wildly to a group as he regales a story of theatrics and wonder.

“Alfred.”

“Correct.”

Arthur looks back to Kiku, who is taking another sip. He places his glass down and looks out to the crowd with Arthur, like people watching a play.

“And who would you say is the most honest with their feelings.”

“I didn’t think I would be quizzed tonight.”

“Please humor me.”

Arthur scans the room again, and he finds himself stuck on the image of Francis leaned against the wall casually as he talks with a beautiful woman. He swipes his hair back with one hand, and the golden waves fall back into place effortlessly. The woman touches his arm playfully, and he smiles in return.

“The frog.”

“Correct again.”

Arthur turns back around, but Kiku’s back is turned to the crowd. He’s facing his drink again, hunched over, considerate.

“And would you guess who in this room has none of these qualities?”

Arthur blinks. He feels goose-bumps on the back of his arms, and for some strange reason, his heart begins to ache. Kiku smiles bitterly, and he leans his head on one hand, turning his face away from Arthur.

“That person is me.” He admits, “And that’s why I can’t be at that person’s side.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything.

“Even now, I’m being immature. I had thought I was better than this.”

“Kiku.”

“I just realized, I don’t make a difference in his world anymore. There are better people. I…”

“ _Kiku._ ”

Kiku stops. He stands up. He straightens out his coat, and he will not look at Arthur. “My apologies,” he mutters, “I must be going.”

“Kiku, wait!” Arthur calls out, but Kiku is already pushing through the crowd, and Arthur follows after. There’s nothing going through his mind, but the faintest whisper of a memory long, long ago. It was night, and there were stars, and they were three months into their alliance. Arthur sipped the tea that had been served to him and without thinking he admitted to Kiku he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

At that time, Kiku had only smiled.

Outside the bar, he catches Kiku’s arm, and Kiku does not turn to look at him. Instead he forces him arm out of his hold, and when he spins around to look at him, Kiku is furious. Arthur hadn’t seen such an expression on his face in a long time.

“At least let me leave with dignity.”

“How could I? You were obviously talking about me.”

Kiku tenses up, face flushed. “I was not.”

“You point out Francis and Alfred, of course it’s me.”

“You guessed them.”

“You said I was right!” Arthur sighs loudly and looks up at the black sky, “God, Kiku, you’re drunk. Why are you even lashing out at  _them_?”

“I was not lashing out.”

“You were getting all petty and melodramatic.” Arthur laughed, and he swore he could see Kiku smile again, “I honestly, don’t…wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Kiku’s face falls, the brightest red it’s ever been. Arthur feels he struck the jackpot, and he begins to laugh in amazement. “Oh God, you are. You’re  _jealous_  of them?”

“Th-they’re always by your side! You’re always with them!” Kiku blurts out, “I…I had just assumed because they were better than me.”

“You’re doing that thing again. That thing you always did.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you think you’re not enough and you start to hate yourself. God, I don’t know, that  _thing_  you always did. When did I ever say that?”

Kiku pauses for a moment, and it strikes Arthur just how small he looks then. Kiku always carried himself with pride and wisdom. However then, he looked so achingly human, Arthur almost wanted to hold him to make sure he wouldn’t disappear. Kiku sniffles, and Arthur realizes he was on the verge of tears.

“I missed you. But I never got to told you; I didn’t know the right time. I…I thought if I came here I could, but…”

Kiku frowns, and he holds back his tears as he always does.

“My apologies. I realize I look quite shameful right now.”

Arthur’s head is spinning. He’s still drinking it all in. He looks back at everything in their past and he wonders why he was so stupid, and when Kiku had looked so perfect. Just as before, he says the first thing that comes to mind, because this was not a moment to overthink things.

“I missed you too.” He chokes out, “I missed you a lot.”

A long moment passes between them. The sound of passing cars and muffled music fills the air, but neither notices it. Arthur begins to step towards Kiku, but Kiku beats him to it. Before Arthur knows it, Kiku rushes to him with arms outspread and he’s holding him close and near.

Arthur doesn’t question it, and he holds him back and their warmth is enough to make the night fall away and all there is, is a sense of relief. A feeling of coming back home.


	7. Human for the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Kiku get married, and Arthur wonders at the very miracle of it.

The thought struck Arthur amidst the pouring of champagne and Alfred’s overly excited rendition of ‘I Will Always Love You’.

It was almost hard to decipher with so much distractions around him. The beginning of the ceremony had been so calm and almost sentimental. But sometime during the reception the karaoke machine was turned on and the alcohol was brought out and everyone knew not one of them was good with alcohol. But it was the sort of occasion you didn’t care for things like that, that you left your logic at home, and just let loose, laid back, and let life happen. Before he knew it the air was bubbly and everyone was red-faced (and shit-faced) and there was dancing and terrible singing and it all sort of spiraled.

He didn’t mind so much. Rather there was so much going on he couldn’t possibly lay his finger on what seemed different.

The tables and chairs had been cleared away, and on that dim dance floor there was just laughter. Happiness in motion. He tried to focus his blurry vision on who was who (for Arthur had a bit of a drink himself, he couldn’t really resist). He could make out the different dances, everyone’s different styles, as they went their way. Feliciano danced excitedly, grabbing hands with Lovino and Ludwig, the one ball of energy between the stumbling two. He saw Belle waltz with Peter as the young boy tried to make himself tall, gliding on tip toes and Belle grinned at him. You’re doing good, she kept telling him, you’re very handsome and he beamed with an innocent pride that bordered on endearing. Mei danced with Tao, as she grabbed his hands and shook with him, and it took the boy’s everything to keep up. Her giggle filled the air between them, her smile wide, and Arthur could’ve sworn he was smiling too. He blinked however, and it was gone.

“ _Aaaaaand I~ WILL ALWAAAAYS LOVE YOOOOOOOU-oh yeah I’ll always love you!”_

Alfred kept belting out Celine Dion, stumbling on words, missing verses but he was laughing and full of himself. Gilbert knocked beside him then, and they shared the mic; two loud unbearable voices mixing into one in a sort of cheery frenzy. They finished by congratulating the grooms. “It’s about time!” Alfred laughed, calling out across the room, “You make him happy, Artie!”

Arthur raised his glass in acknowledgment, but Alfred never noticed as he chose another song to sing. Arthur didn’t mind and he took another sip as the beginning chords of ‘I Want You to Want Me’ began to rise.

“ _I NEEEEED YOU TO NEED MEEEE!”_

He was shocked this was all really happening in the first place.

He didn’t really expect anyone to be able to come to the wedding. When he had sent out all those invitations he had expected maybe half of the guests they had now. He expected even a third. And he knew why of course, it was logical; they all had their own business to attend to, this wedding wasn’t approved by their bosses, so obviously they couldn’t expect many people to be able to come. (Not that it was fought against, but it just wasn’t recognized. They weren’t acting as nations so it wasn’t deemed as important.)

But somehow it happened. Like it was a miracle. Arthur almost felt like crying but he told himself he wasn’t the ‘sobbing at weddings’ sort so he held it all in.

(Besides Feliciano had filled that position during the ceremony. If you looked closely now you could still see the tear streaks.)

Looking across this room now he thought it was amazing. All of them grouped together in this sort of high-energy, joyous occasion. But something seemed different to him and he tried to figure out exactly what it was. Was it the fact that all of them were together for once? No, that wasn’t it. Was it the fact that two nations were getting married, not for political reasons, but for purely personal reasons? That felt like it was a part of it, but is still felt like there was more.

Today Arthur and Kiku were wed not as nations but as Arthur Kirkland and Kiku Honda. The invitations too had each nation’s respective human name. There was no politics at all in this. They were acting as if they were human.

Finally, the thought struck Arthur.

“ _I’D LOOOOOVE YOU TO LOVE ME~!”_

They were being human.

Acting without a care in the world, enjoying themselves together, it was all so entirely  _human_. Tonight they shed their status as nations, and happily donned their human names. They came as Ludwig not Germany, Alfred not America, and so on. And tonight Arthur and Kiku married as themselves and not England and Japan.

Of course they’d all have work in the morning. There was no honeymoon planned for there couldn’t be time sacrificed for it. In the morning they would return to who they were meant to be. All of this was fleeting and temporary, just as it’s always been. But for one split moment, in that second, with the dancing and the laughter and the loud talking and the terrible singing they were human. Fragile and crazy and so terribly happy.

Arthur felt his head spin. Felt himself tear up. It hit him like a whirlwind.

He got up from his seat and went in search for his husband. Pushed through bodies and congratulations. The champagne was buzzing through his head and everything felt hazy. He felt so wrapped up in that moment with the music pounding and the laughter floating. It was something you wanted to bottle up and keep forever. A moment you wanted to examine in every way so that the memory of it can be better preserved. Finally he felt a hand clap on his back and turning to face the owner, he was met with his long-time rival, his most vitriolic friend.

“Eyebrows,” Francis grinned, eyes shining with a lopsided cheer, “Looking for someone?”

“For Kiku.” Arthur told him hoarsely, with—surprising even to himself—no ill will towards him. It didn’t even feel like he could muster any anger towards the Frenchman; it just felt like all this high energy crushed it. Francis put a glass in his hand and he poured him more champagne without comment. Arthur almost shot him down, his liver surely cursing him at this moment, but he let him. It just seemed like the night he should let him.

“Ah, for Mr. Kiku Kirkland?”

“We’re not changing last names; we already made this clear.”

“What’s wrong with you, however? You’re tearing up.”

It was only when pointed out to him that Arthur noticed the wetness at the corner of his eyes. He blinked and they trailed down his face. He looked down at the glass, shook the liquid a bit, considered telling Francis his epiphany.

“It’s just. I’m just feeling so…overwhelmed? It’s just all so much…”

“I’m happy for you, you know.”

It’s not to say Francis and Arthur never had these moments. These intimate, platonic moments, but they always came suddenly and unexpectedly. Arthur could never foresee their arrival, and even now he felt his heart leap, and looking up the calm and accepting look on Francis’ face was so shockingly kind.

“You did it.” Francis told him. “You’ve found him.”

Arthur began to cry.

“And I want you to make him happy, alright? God knows how you British handle  _romance_.”

“Shut up.” Arthur laughed, and just as suddenly he felt kind too. “I’m sorry. It’s just…Everyone here, I just feel so-“

“Shh.” Francis shushed him, bringing a finger to his own lips, a mischievous wink to accompany it, “It’s not me to tell. Go to him. Tell  _him_. Besides, aren’t you sharing the rest of your life with him as is?”

“I don’t even know where he is.”

And Francis, as if by magic, pointed him towards the balcony, a ring of flowers bordering it. And there, gorgeous, undefinable, and graceful, was Kiku. Dressed in a handsome, black and white ceremonial kimono, his back turned, facing the night sky. Arthur felt his breath catch, and nodded to Francis goodbye, who only laughed. You’re so predictable, he told him as Arthur walked off. The world seemed to slow down as he approached Kiku, the loud obnoxious singing dying away, and the voices seemed muffled as he opened the door, getting Kiku’s attention. He closed the glass door behind him, and suddenly the world felt clearer out there, not as loud yet not any more or less beautiful.

“Arthur-san.” Kiku smiled, flushed. For a moment Arthur wondered if he had been drinking too. It felt so odd then to see him, after all the history, after what had occurred that afternoon. No matter what happened, he realized, Kiku would still be himself. Poised politeness and humility, the presence that had always comforted him. It felt so odd, he thought, and yet also so familiar. It felt like no matter what, with him, he’d always feel like he was home.

Kiku took this moment to examine his husband, and a look of worry flashed on his face. “Is everything alright?”

Arthur sniffled, remembering he was still crying like a baby, and cracked a smile. “Alfred’s blasted singing is so  _horrible._ ”

Kiku grinned at this, moving a bit to let Arthur lean on the railing with him. He did so, cherishing the warmth in the way their arms touched, hugged against each other. He considered putting an arm around him, but decided it was not the moment, and they’d have plenty more chances to get closer tonight. However, that was nowhere on his mind right now, and he instead spread his soul out for Kiku to study.

“I was just thinking how everyone came.”

“To our ceremony?”

“Yeah; I didn’t think anyone would. But…I’m happy. I’m happy they did.”

Kiku leaned his head on Arthur’s shoulder as he continued, almost like a soothing anchor that kept him in place. His hair smelled like a mixture of sweat and tea. It vaguely reminded Arthur of the afternoon Kiku proposed, a changing of bandages, a cup of green tea on the table, a sudden confession as Arthur looked at burn scars, the rough fabric of bandages on his fingers. It had been followed by Arthur’s shock, a quick saddened thought of  _I misheard_  courtesy of Arthur’s low self-esteem.

But Kiku had assured him he hadn’t. And he proceeded to apologize for the lack of a ring, but promised the next chance he got he would get him one. Arthur laughed then, because it was an entirely Kiku-like thing for him to apologize about. And through the laughter then came the tears, the happy disbelief, the chocked out acceptance.

It took them more years to finally manage to put it together. But it happened, and tonight Arthur liked the way he was himself, human, so entirely complete with his other half at his side.

“Everyone’s just so,” he stopped, felt a lump form in his throat, (oh God, he really  _was_  the crying at weddings type), “ _human_. We’re not nations right now. We’re all so human.”

Kiku paused, considerate. Arthur rather liked this about him; he always thought before he spoke, was so particular with his words. It was fascinating.

“Do you not like being a nation?” He asked softly. Arthur considered this too. Shook his head.

“No. It’s just nice to indulge that human side of me once in a while. It’s nice to know I’m not only meant to exist for the benefit of others. It’s nice to be…I don’t know. Arthur.”

He felt a hand on his then, slipped inconspicuously under a kimono sleeve. It squeezed his and glancing over he caught Kiku’s gaze, a warm smile spreading on his lips.

“I rather like being Kiku, too.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile in return. Before he could bend over to kiss his cheek however, Kiku glanced over to the party, apparent through the glass panes of the door. It reminded Arthur of museum showcases then, almost as if it was a moment preserved through the ages as a reminder. Or as if it was a moment precious enough to be guarded from the rest of the world.

“And I’m sure they too like being their human selves.” Kiku went on, studying it with him, “Ceremonies like these, I think we can all forget for one night. And perhaps, every once in a while, that’s enough.”

Arthur paused, taking this all in, taking in this moment, taking in the fact that he was now married to this person. It all felt so unbearably right, and so he scooped down, holding Kiku tight in his arms, taking in the shape of his body in his hold, taking in his warmth. He faintly smelled alcohol on him then, and he smiled.

“You’ve been drinking.” He teased into his shoulder.

“A bit.”

“I love you.” Arthur laughed, giddy, fully alive, “I love you so much.”

And Kiku, brushing his lips against Arthur’s ear, whispered back, “And I love you, too.”

They were able to cherish this moment a bit longer, under stars and night sky (Ah, yes, Arthur remembered, it had started with stars too, didn’t it?). Until the moment the balcony door burst open, shocking them both and there was Alfred, mic in hand, ears red, face infectiously jovial.

“What are you guys doing out here?” Alfred tsked, tone playful, “C’mon you have to dance at least  _once_  at your own wedding.”

“I’m not dancing.” Arthur deadpanned, until Alfred grabbed his wrist dragging him back.

“Oh yes you  _are_! C’mon Artie, I’ll teach you how to let loose!”

“No, Alfred! Stop, stop that, I’m not-  _Alfred!”_

They broke down into laughter, no logic or common sense to be found and Arthur looking back found Kiku smiling like he’s never smiled before. Offering a hand out to him, Kiku took it instantly and they left the moment behind, losing themselves in a happy-go-lucky cheer. The rest of the night was a blur, but almost like a perfect dream, a feel-good revelry. In the morning it would all be gone; there would be no music, no humanity, no selfless care. In the morning Arthur and Kiku will wake up in the same bed, get dressed, return home and return to their jobs as nations. In the morning everyone will no longer bear their human names but only respond to the names their people have given them. In the morning the dream will be over.

But they’re not thinking about this. There is no energy to waste on such sad thoughts. At this moment the room was so tremendously real and Arthur laughs as he lifts Kiku and twirls him, and everyone watches and all the past is forgotten and there is only now.

Arthur does not worry at this moment. Right now he has everything he ever needed.

And they dance.


	8. Taking Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt of gakuen AU. Arthur and Kiku are close, but not quite there yet, much to the frustration of their friends.

There they were, at the doorway, again.

“So, he tells me,” Arthur explains, already half-laughing, “Can you believe this? He tells me that I’m sleepwalking. I’m sleepwalking and this is all a dream.”

“He didn’t.”

“He did. I’ll admit, I’m growing a certain kind of fondness for that prat if only because his excuses just get more hilarious each time.”

Kiku laughs. Feliciano glances to Ludwig from his work station, red pen poised over the newspaper club’s rough draft of page 3. Ludwig returns the glance, and when Feliciano raises his eyebrow, the message is clearly shared between the two of them

_Why don’t they just go out already?_

Now, it’s not to say either Feliciano or Ludwig are mad at Kiku. They like Kiku; he’s a good friend, he’s responsible, he rounds out their group perfectly. It just wouldn’t be them without him. But that’s not to say they liked how distracted he got every  _single_  time the Student Council president decided to pay their club room a visit. (With flimsy reasons like  _Just making my rounds_  and  _Wanted to see what the new issues about!_ )

(Which it was very obvious he only did this for the Newspaper club, to everyone else in the school.)

And they had their own reasons for being annoyed by this: Ludwig kept a steady eye on the deadline. It was already hard enough with only a three-man team (though, admittedly, he wouldn’t trade it for the world) and with one man down (or seduced) it just made him worry more and more about the work that had to be done and wasn’t being done. And Feliciano was more so frustrated that after two months of this they hadn’t made any progress; not the newspaper of course, he never worried about things like that more than he needed to. But it was more how Arthur and Kiku had been staying stock still in their comfortable positions of ‘friend I sometimes flirt with and like to be around but that’s it really’ and he knew, he could see it, they could be s _o much more_.

But neither made the move.

And, of course, Feliciano could see why; it was Arthur after all (bristly, a little afraid, too much pride) and Kiku, too (reserved, polite, not very outgoing). But having it paraded around in front of him, was all the more trying and he wanted to do something for them, but no that’s not how it went.

Love should never be forced.

But it wasn’t only the newspaper club that was effected, either. Later that day, Kiku swung by the Student Council office, ‘just to see Arthur-san, it’s something about the newspaper club; y-yes it is, I mean it’. Francis pouts his lips model style as they talk in the doorway (not at all talking about the club) and Seychelles rolls her eyes, to the high heavens, never a subtle bone in her body.

Her and Francis engage in a heated hushed whisper conversation as the not-really lovebirds continued to exchange not-really sweet nothings.

 _“Do you think”_ Seychelles asks, “ _they ever get tired of standing that long?_ “

“ _Perhaps that’s a special eyebrows power,”_ Francis shrugged, “ _A bowl cut only talent.”_

Seychelles stifles a laugh. Shakes her head then, pigtails waving to and fro, and she gets back to business.

“ _No, but I’m serious. I don’t want to do all of Eyebrow’s work.”_

 _“As if_ I  _want to either.”_

_“What does he even see in Arthur? Good looks?”_

Francis poises a finger gun to his head, lets it go off and dies dramatically at his desk. Seychelles stifles another laugh, and tries to look casual when Arthur looks over his shoulder, seeing what all the fuss is. He only finds her at work though, and turns his attention back to Kiku. The duo resumes their conversation.

“ _We have to do something about this,”_ she goes on,  _”It’s been two months of this! Two months!”_

_“Well unless they finally realize it, we will be stuck here doing most of the work, stuck with Arthur sighing lovelorn and doing nothing about it.”_

_“Can’t we, I don’t know,”_ Seychelles shrugged, “ _Hook them up?”_

Francis, leaning his head on one hand, elbow firm on his desk, all model posing cool, frowns. Smiles weakly.

“As if Arthur needs help knowing he’s in love with Kiku.” He says, full voice, casual, blatantly obvious. The pair at the doorway freeze up simultaneously, and Arthur snaps his head around, angry, blushing.

“Don’t say such stupid things, Frog!”

When Francis glances over, his heart goes out to Kiku, who makes the most hurt, yet understanding expression. Oh dear, he thinks. Arthur is an idiot, he thinks for the thousandth time in his life.

“N-No,” Kiku, dear sweet and self-suffering Kiku, “Perhaps I am coming around here too much. My apologies for the trouble I have caused.”

Arthur tries to reason with him, but the martyr bows and runs down the hallway. Arthur chases after him, and when he is gone, Francis bows dramatically at his desk, and Sey claps. He offers that, if she felt the urge to kiss him then, she may. She turns it down by grimacing.

When Arthur comes back, his face is flushed, just commenting that he fixed that misunderstanding. He scolds Francis for picking on Kiku like that honestly, where is your shame. He proceeds to sit at his desk, not working at all, and sighing lovelorn through the rest of the afternoon.

Well, it wasn’t a solution. But it was a start.

* * *

To be honest, no one was quite sure when it had all started. Perhaps it was the first day Arthur laid eyes on Kiku, the beginning of the school year. Or perhaps it was the subsequent visits after that. Was it love at first sight? Or was it just a gradual procession of reaching a middle ground in their feelings? No one could really say, except them. But on the outside it was obvious to everyone they had clicked, shared some like-minded connection. And so, despite their friends wondering ‘Will they ever run out of things to talk about?’ they never did. It seemed to get to a point that it was less about sharing thoughts and observations and more about liking the other’s company and feeling comfortable around them.

Because Feliciano and Ludwig have never heard Kiku laugh so openly.

“No, no,” he would struggle to say, holding his stomach, “I’m fine.”

And he was grinning and it was like the chrysanthemum blooming.

And Arthur being cutely embarrassed was near unheard of to Francis and Seychelles.

“God, I didn’t mean…I mean I did! I do like it!” Arthur stuttered, looking to his feet no better than a wallflower, “…I guess I wouldn’t mind. If it’s you, I mean.”

And his face was as red as blossoming roses, lost in a pleasant fervor.

They had never been so emotionally beautiful. Which is why everyone around them kept thinking ‘How do I get him to realize/make the first step/do something about it?’

They tried the subtle course: You talk with Arthur a lot don’t you? Kiku’s always so happy around you, hm, wonder why? He didn’t come today, are you sad?

But they always artfully evaded such hints: Yes, I don’t mean to, however. I told you not to pick on him, frog.

No, not really,

He’ll be by tomorrow so it’s fine.

They then tried to make them jealous: Do you think Arthur likes anyone? My, Kiku looks exceptionally beautiful today. Perhaps they’re seeing someone today.

However it only further proved the trust they had: Arthur-san is a bit more complicated than that. Stop gawking at Kiku, Beardy, he wouldn’t be interested in you.

No.

He will definitely come by today.

And then it got to flat out asking: Do you like him, Kiku? Perhaps you have a soft spot for him? Is there anything going on?

With this, there were the more adorable reactions, the more honest and closest they’d ever get to saying it out loud: I…that is…Arthur-san is a good friend, Kiku says, hiding face into notes, face red and eyes averted. Don’t, Arthur warns frowning, proud, heart clear on his shoulder.

There’s…nothing going on, really.

Sorry. Let’s continue this conversation later.

He’s here.

And yet, still, no progress was made. The couple of the century, the epitome of ‘everyone but them can see it’, still stayed as they were. No one could quite figure out just how to do it.

 Finally, the solution came one rainy afternoon. It wasn’t even an artfully crafted plan or sly suggestion that went into work. In fact, it wasn’t creative or cunning or anything of the sort. And the savior that did it wasn’t even in on the entire thing, neither aware of what he said. It was perfect and exactly what everyone needed and had waited for.

During lunchtime in the hallways of the school, between classes. Arthur, all sly and cocky, leaned against the doorway of Kiku’s class. And Kiku, all casual and subtle beauty, stood there, arms crossed and comfortable. Feliciano was eyeing the lunch Kiku had abandoned for him, half-eaten, forgotten. Ludwig was eyeing Feliciano.

And it was so quick and unintentional, so like him. He walked down the hall in his red Converse, sucking down a strawberry shake, jaunty walk, humming something fast and popular. Passing by Seychelles he smiled at her, and she smiled back, turning back when she heard his voice.

“Oh, Arthur!” Alfred called, slapping said person on the back, “Great timing!”

Arthur quickly switched from casual flirtation to annoyed recognition. He looked to Alfred, eyebrow raised. “What is it?” he asked, not too harsh, but not too happy either. Alfred, darling oblivious Alfred, looked between him and Kiku, but made no note of it, going on with what he wanted.

“Today, after school, I need help with my homework. Can I count on you?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder, “As if,” he sighed, “You’re going to have me do it again, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t! Hero’s promise!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Me and  _Kiku,_ ” he looked to him at this, they exchanged a look, “Are going out later today. So I can’t.”

And here it was, the turning point, the final, decisive blow.

“Oh, you guys have a date?”

They froze. Faces fell, all presumptuous coyness lost, and all that was left were two red-faced boys caught red-handed. Kiku, surprisingly, spoke first:

“I-It’s not a date.”

“We’re not dating!”

Alfred blinked. Unfazed, he took another sip of his shake, the obnoxious sound of his straw moving filling the space between the three. He shrugged. “I thought you guys were?”

They were silent, and Seychelles, a happy viewer to all of this, had never seen anyone get so red in such a short amount of time.

“I mean, you guys are always together,” Alfred explained, “And this whole time I thought you were a couple? You’re not?”

Any other pair would’ve laughed it off. Another might’ve gotten indignant and mad. But these two, with something finally shifting in their universe, looked between each other, and Arthur spoke exactly what they were thinking.

“I…don’t think so?” He said questioningly, considerate, almost curious. Alfred, the king of not reading the atmosphere, didn’t catch on, didn’t tease, didn’t push any further. Which is exactly what they had needed in the first place:

Just an acceptance, the honor of being bestowed the title, and nothing else.

“Well, my bad. If anything comes up though, Artie, tell me if you’re free ok? See ya!”

And the savior walked down the hall, as Seychelles ran off in the other direction to tell Francis the wonderful news. And there, in the middle, Kiku looked up to Arthur, something in his eyes, and Arthur, just as he was about to say something was stopped. The bell rang, and they parted ways awkwardly. Try as they might, when Kiku got back, Feliciano and Ludwig could not stir him from his lovestruck trance.

Later that day, after putting the finishing touches on the front page, Ludwig leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms above his head. He took an impulsive glance out the window, the rain still pouring outside. And looking at the school gate, he spotted Arthur and Kiku walking under the same umbrella. His heart stopped as they stopped at the gate, Arthur suddenly grabbing Kiku’s waist, dipping him into a kiss.

Kiku immediately wrapped his arms around his new boyfriend’s neck.

Ludwig looked away, embarrassed for them, and yet somehow relieved.

And for once, just as he had always wanted, Alfred F. Jones was the hero that day.


	9. To Go on like this, Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for 0130 awhile back. Arthur and Kiku reflect on their relationship during their anniversary.

“Is here fine?”

“Yes,” he smiled, “it’s perfect.”

The fluttering of a blanket. Kiku watched it descend onto the grass, gripping picnic basket in his hands. Arthur smoothed out the edges gently, and Kiku studied the back of his head, the way his hands moved over the cloth. He turned to look at him then, those green eyes catching him off guard.

“Good?” He smiled.

Kiku smiled in return. Nodded. And taking Arthur’s hand, he slowly sat beside him, the ground firm but stable. He tried to remember how many years they’ve done this; sixty? Or was it fifty? He could barely remember who even proposed the idea first, and why. But Kiku was used to not remembering even what should’ve been important, but they were both like this and it really was no harm done. Rather, what he considered even more important was the tradition being upheld.

The fact that, without fail, they would watch the stars together, on their anniversary.

Kiku wondered if it was right to even properly call this their anniversary though. Long ago they had detached any of their country status to their relationship. That’s not to say they completely ignored it; it just came to be that they agreed what they did to each other as England and Japan had no bearing on that.

(They didn’t want to repeat history.)

But, perhaps, it was more like paying respects. For if they had never started that alliance, Kiku sorely doubted they would’ve gotten as close as they did. It was the starting point; he respected that.

“Luv,” Arthur bought him out of these musings, pouring tea from a thermos, “You want it plain, right?”

“…One sugar this time.”

Arthur flitted his eyes up, smiling easily, “Changing it up?”

Kiku unpacked their lunch (what an odd time to have lunch) ignoring the question. He was secretly pleased with how Arthur already knew his preferences, but that wasn’t on his mind now. He blinked, looking up at the crisp, clear starry sky and spoke the first thing that came to his mind:

“Does it ever amaze you,” he said softly, “just how long it’s been?”

Silence. Kiku stared down at the bentos he had packed, the different compartments and the food he had prepared. Examined details, and the pattern of the blanket, listened intently to the crickets nearby. Admittedly, he was a bit shocked too; where had this come from? Was this a subconscious opinion?

“…Sometimes. No,” Arthur stopped, “Always.”

Kiku couldn’t help but smile.

“I won’t lie,” Arthur went on, handing Kiku his sweetened black tea, “I would’ve never thought you of all people would’ve come after me.”

“I…I was surprised too.” Kiku shrugged, “It wasn’t even for political reasons. I just…preferred you more.”

“It’s just not like you, I suppose?”

“Perhaps this could say something about you, Arthur-san.”

Arthur looked at him, blushing, sweet. Under his breath he muttered ‘cheeky’ in a way Kiku knew meant no harm. And the memories just kept coming: The delighted agreement, the business papers that had to be taken care of, and all the other political things, wars to fight, support to give, and so on.

But that wasn’t important to them anymore. Rather they remembered all the personal details, all the sorts of things you could never find in a history textbook.

They had gotten along at a surprising rate, surprising to their superiors and them.  There had been something about them that clicked and it hadn’t been just an alliance but a friendship. Each meeting had been strongly anticipated. Every conversation had been lively. They dreamt of each other.

For the first time in a long while Kiku was able to laugh without restraint.

The moment he had realized he was in love was not in a dance, or with a touch, or even with a smile. They had been cleaning out his storage room together and there was a box he couldn’t quite reach. Arthur had half-smiled, and placed a hand on his shoulder, gently telling him he would get it for him. While Kiku had stood to the side he watched Arthur reach up, the folds in his shirt, examined the back of his blond hair and the strong shoulders. Something shifted in his heart then, and he felt it come alive all of a sudden, felt his face heat up.

He loved him.

He  _loved_ him.

When Arthur looked back around, with the box in his arms he found Kiku looking away, a hand on his forehead. When asked if he was ok all Kiku could stutter out was a ‘fine’ while he didn’t feel fine at all.

When retelling this story, Arthur blushed wildly, looking away. Kiku, chopsticks poised in hand, put him even more on the spot:

“And you?” he asked, “When did you fall in love?”

“…Promise not to laugh.”

“I would never.”

Arthur, too, did not have a breathtaking moment; at least not in the expected way. Kiku did not catch his eye or move a certain way. He was not poetry in motion, and to be frank, Arthur only remembers the most important parts; but also it’s what struck him the most. This was some other time, staying at Kiku’s and he had woken in a panic. He has never been an unwounded soul, and sometimes those memories hit him like a throbbing bruise, like old limbs on rainy days. It had been a vague yet vicious nightmare: his first child, the pouring rain, the bayonet thrown carelessly on the ground. Severed bonds and unspoken feelings. It all hit him hard as he woke up just as the bullet was shot through his chest.

And he was scared. And he needed somebody.

On a shameful whim, he had sought out Kiku.

Trying to not look too shaken, or too weak, he had woken up his host with an excuse. Oh, my room’s too cold, do you mind if I stay here for the night. Oh no, no! I don’t need another one, just, I don’t mean to be a bother-

When Kiku had lifted the futon’s blanket, Arthur was stunned. He wasn’t used to such wordless and pretty kindness.

“Please,” Kiku had said, “don’t cry.”

Arthur stared at him, scared, wanting it to be as real as he hoped it was.

“Or, if you need to cry, please let me comfort you.” He took Arthur’s hand then, closing it between his own, “We’re friends after all.”

That night, Arthur had cried harder than he ever had in a long, long while.

That night, Arthur fell in love harder than he had ever fallen in love with someone before.

It was Kiku’s turn to blush. But just as he was about to comment, Arthur continued:

“But it got rather ugly, didn’t it?”

Kiku closed his mouth. Opened it again: “I don’t blame you for it.”

“I know.”

“It was a while ago.”

“Kiku,” Arthur laughed, “I don’t feel guilty. It’s just how things were back then. We were both at fault, but honestly? It was bound to happen.”

After all, when you take someone still recovering and still paranoid, and pair them with someone who had an insatiable and young thirst for power what else would happen? And they remembered, of course: Arthur being swayed, and Kiku acting cold. Arthur, still in love, but still a nation. And somewhere along the way, they lost that all too human feeling, buried it under duty and ambition and desperate need to be something they had always lusted for:

Strong.

Arthur and Kiku in the present mused on this: they had been so young. Only someone inexperienced and unsatisfied would want something so vague, and sacrifice others for it. On the surface it seemed so heroic, but it wasn’t. They knew that; nothing about the breaking of the alliance was romantic. The tears they shed, and the feelings they restrained, none of that was pretty, it was honestly just stubbornness trying to be.

The pain didn’t make it beautiful. There was too much pain to.

(Because Kiku remembers coming home and trashing the guest bedroom, and crying into the sheets. Being helped by the servants as if he was no better than a savage animal.)

(And Arthur remembers throwing the picture frame against the wall, only to be found moments later clutching the broken glass pieces to his chest, muttering ‘what have I done?’)

None of it was glorious. It had no right to be.

And the war, too, was the same. Painfully swallowing the lumps in their throats, they boldly marched into patriotism and forced ideals. Kept themselves busy, and tried their hardest not to flinch when their comrades would utter the word ‘England’ or ‘Japan’.

Arthur considered sending love letters. Once, one half drunken night. Or, perhaps it wasn’t a love letter so much as a sincere apology, covered with his feelings.

He never did, of course.

He instead, delivered it verbally at the end. Visiting Kiku’s bedside, Arthur threw all formalities and shame out the window, and finally spilled it all.

And there, finally, was the romance.

“But you,” Arthur grinned, “weren’t too happy with that.”

“I threw the pillow at you in anger.”

“Well, I’ll admit. I deserved it.”

Kiku, who had been trying so hard to be strong, trying so hard to catch up to Europe, who now was at his lowest and most disgraceful, just couldn’t handle it. For the love he had buried, to resurface after so long, be thrown in his face when he felt so pitiful, it just didn’t seem fair.

And he told him this.

“Is this a joke?!” he cried, tears forming in his uncovered eye, his body aching, “Have you come to mock me?!”

“No!” Arthur returned, “I just…with you, I-!”

“Get out.”

“Kiku-“

“ _Don’t call me by that name,_ ” he hissed, “You think, after breaking off the alliance, after coming out the victor, you can come in here and force your feelings on me?  _As if you aren’t guilty?_ ”

Arthur felt his heart stopped. Kiku, the Kiku he loved, looked so different then, and it all hit him. Bandaged up, breathing shallow like a cornered animal, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic…it all seemed so  _wrong_. To say Arthur was responsible for all of it would be a grossly egoistic lie.

But to say he was innocent would be horribly offensive.

It had been awhile since Arthur practiced anything from the Japanese culture. He vaguely recalled everything else he learned; the bowing, the phrases, the respect. Kiku’s culture had always fascinated him, just how multi-faceted it was and how direct and formal it could be. And searching his mind, Arthur tried to think how to respond, with the guilt gnawing at his stomach, and with his heart still longing.

Kiku watched him as he got to his knees. And he was shocked as Arthur’s forehead touched the hospital floor.

He performed the kowtow perfectly, from the joined fingertips, to the stiff shoulders.

“I’m not asking you to love me.”

Kiku was silent.

“I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I never meant to hurt you. I…I love you too much to want that.” He gulped, “But I know I did. And I know things won’t go back to before. But I…”

Arthur sat up, eyes frightened, legs shaking, and yet, finally, strong.

“But I want to try again. I want to do it right this time.”

The mechanical beeps and pressure of Kiku’s hospital equipment was the only thing that filled the space between them. They held a strong, unwavering gaze, but it was Kiku who broke it first. Looked down to his lap, to his bandaged hands and he whispered, once more, “Get out.”

Arthur did.

Two weeks later, Kiku called him back.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until Kiku was finally well enough to leave, and Arthur had helped him back home. Until Kiku fell back in love with the way Arthur held his hand as helped him into the car, just as he had fallen in love before. Until Arthur swore that his love wouldn’t be so flimsy or young this time; until he promised it would be more reliable. Until he forgot what it meant to fear affection.

And the rest was history.

The empty bento boxes and cups sit behind them. Kiku leans onto Arthur’s shoulder, relishes the arm that loops around him, and they look at the stars. They call out the constellations, pointing fingers and listing facts. It’s less about what was spoken, however. It was never about that in the first place.

But it was getting late. Arthur begins to nod off, and the evening is drawing to a close. Kiku shakes him awake, and bleary eyed, he helps gather their things. They always return home around midnight, just as their anniversary ends.

Kiku speaks up again.

“I’m a bit sad it’s ending.” He confesses, “I almost…It’s silly, I know. But I want this to last.”

Arthur, rolled up blanket under his arm, blinks, still half asleep. He shrugs.

“We’ll be back next year, right?” He yawns, “I don’t think we’ll be stopping this anytime soon.”

Kiku feels his heart skip a beat. Smiles softly.

With the way he grabs Arthur’s collar then, pulling him into a sweet kiss, he reaffirms it for them.

This wouldn’t be ending anytime soon.


	10. A Restless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a nightmare. A purely sentimental piece.

He blew gently on the tea, the steam slowly floating away from its force, the smell of Earl Grey filling him in. Kiku examined the warm drink, the pretty color of it. It was dark for Kiku was still unused to milk and sugar in his tea, but he was growing accustomed to the taste of black tea anyway. He brought the blanket around himself more, the chill nipping at his bare feet and with glazed eyes he stared out from the window seat. Crickets chirped and there was a faint sound of cars elsewhere. The moon was unusually bright that night, the cold night clear, and Kiku examined what stars he could see.

He’d be lying if he said they didn’t make him even a bit nostalgic.

He shifted his weight, left hip aching with movement. He found it embarrassing that  _back pain_  was what woke him; age really was catching up. He tried not to dwell on it however, trying to think of what do for it, and how to get back to sleep. He had a flight tomorrow afternoon, back home, and he wondered if his body was trying to tell him something. As if, subconsciously, it was trying to keep him there as long as it could.

He smiled to himself. How absurd it had sounded. He shook his head and took another sip of the tea, its scent and taste relaxing him.

It was as he expected; tea from England really was the best.

Kiku was a bit sad, to be honest, to leave his lover’s side after they had found time after so long. But he waved it away with maturity; its how things were, they had other duties, and they would have other chances anyway. It wasn’t like before, he reminded himself; there was no war to tear them apart. No heart-crushing break up and tense negotiations.

That was so long ago, he told himself. It wouldn’t happen again, not if he could make sure of it.

Faintly, breaking through his thoughts, he heard the creaking of wood. Kiku looked up, alert, and saw someone peeking around the corner from the hallway. What he noticed first were green eyes, wide and scared.

“Arthur-san?”

The owner of the house slowly appeared and something felt wrong to Kiku. He still wore the same sleeping clothes and Arthur tried to appear casual and alright, but there was a way he carried himself, a look in his eyes, that made Kiku worry.

“Sorry,” Arthur coughed awkwardly. “I was just…I was just wondering where you went.”

“I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. My apologies.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Arthur chuckled, sweet but still sorrowful. Kiku frowned, shifting so he sat upright on the window seat, mug held between his hands. His voice turned into a whisper, like a mother speaking to her frightened child.

“Are you alright?”

Arthur paused, crossing his arms, looking downward. He nodded half-heartedly, shrugged. He walked closer as he talked, into the moonlight cast from the window.

“…Had a nightmare.”

“About what?”

“Us.”

Kiku was silent. He didn’t respond because he knew how Arthur was like. You couldn’t rush anything with him; to love Arthur Kirkland one needed patience and unending care. He was not someone to love halfheartedly.

“I…I dreamt about the alliance. You know, all that…all that rubbish.” He frowned, dissatisfied, and it looked as if he was on the verge of crying, “It’s stupid really. And I woke up and…and you weren’t  _there_.”

“Arthur…”

“I don’t know, I panicked. I know, it’s stupid, I know.” He sighed loudly, sniffed. He placed a hand on his forehead, looking all too fragile and breakable. Kiku tried to think of what to say, what to do, but he knew exactly what Arthur needed then. Kiku placed the mug on the ground carefully. He held his arms out, blanket barely holding onto his shoulders, his face kind and concerned.

Without word, Arthur rushed into that embrace.

Kiku rubbed his back offering no extreme, dramatic words of love because they were past a point of such unreliable formalities. He only held him close, and Arthur’s warmth and shaking shoulders was what he wanted to protect, as the man went on, afraid, but safe.

“It’s stupid, it was so many years ago, I know, I know.”

“It’s ok.”

“I just don’t…” He sniffled. Struggled. Kiku let him, and closed his eyes when Arthur finally said it.

“ _I don’t want to lose you._ ”

Kiku nodded. Understood. Whispered he didn’t want that either, and kissed Arthur on the crown of his head. They stayed like that until Arthur was stable again. Kiku still worried, but his love for Arthur was so powerful that he knew he would never stop. He felt comforted however, that they shared the same worries, concerns, the same heartache. He felt some sort of morbid but relatable connection with him. There was nothing to fear, he knew, if they both felt the same. There was no history that would be repeated.

It was comforting in its own way, and Kiku felt guilty for feeling this way, but also understood.


	11. Tanabata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt of Japanese Mythology/Folkore. I wanted to switch the roles a bit.

The first thing he thought was  _His hair is like starlight_.

Arthur blushed, and looked away, “You don’t need to stare.”

Kiku caught himself, “Ah, I-I’m very sorry, just…I’ve never seen one like you.”

Arthur looked back, hands still clasped in front of himself. His look was stern but his face was a charming pink, words soft, “Well I’ve never seen one like you either. Perhaps it’s different on the other sides of the Milky Way? Does it…does it bother you? N-Not that I care.”

Kiku smiled at the weaver, Arthur’s personality already charming him. He wondered how a lowly herder like himself could be a good match for such a handsome prince. He bowed his head, thankful and humble.

“No,” he told him, “not at all. In fact, I like it.”

Kiku grabbed Arthur’s hand and kissed it softly. The prince felt his heart leap and felt an incredible gratefulness for his father. This arrangement looked as if it was going to work out perfectly.

“I promise,” Kiku whispered to his new husband, “I will take good care of you.”


	12. Lucky and Unfortunate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt of Steampunk AU. Kiku is a famous mechanic and Arthur is a sky pirate.

Although Kiku was a world-renowned mechanic, and was confident in his work, he was never quite so nervous as he was now. But who could blame him when he had a pistol aimed at his head, as he fixed a busted out engine, with his captor watching him carefully?

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Kiku cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing over to the gunman, “but could you please put that away? It’s distracting.”

And Kiku wasn’t an idiot, because he knew what danger he was putting himself in telling that to the vigilante in front of him. He wasn’t an idiot as to not know who this was, who had bursted into his workshop and demanded his help, who he’d have to be a fool to go against. Sky Pirate Arthur Kirkland frowned, sneered, motioned back to his ship without even looking away. “Get back to work.” Was all he told him gruffly. Kiku should’ve listened to his colleagues, he realized. When they had all heard the news that the infamous Captain of the Skies was headed for their area, armed and dangerous, he should’ve listened to them when they told him to head home early and be on guard at all times.

But perhaps Kiku had gotten too used to comfort.

So for the moment he contented with holding back a sigh and turning his attention back to his work, wrench heavy in his hand. He wondered if he was strong enough to hit someone over the head with it and escape alive. He doubted Arthur was so average though.

While Kiku ran over each possible means of escape in his head, Arthur took the moment to examine the man he had stumbled across for now. He hadn’t thought he’d been so lucky as to find Kiku Honda, famous inventor and mechanic, but he thanked the Heavens for the cards he’d been dealt. He kept an eye on the door and another on his hostage, but his mind was reeling. To pass up a chance like this would be idiotic, to let someone so skilled go so easily…his mind began to work and he circled his prey, boots clacking on the workroom floor, eyes smart and focused.

Kiku looked back up again.

“What are you doing?” he asked the barrel of the gun pointed at him. Arthur carefully crafted his answer and spoke.

“I was just thinking.” He said, “How would you like to come work for me?”

“ _What?_ ”

“You heard me. How would you like joining my crew?”

Kiku thought of his family first. And then he wondered if Arthur was an idiot.  _No_  he realized,  _he’s the exact opposite. He knows exactly who I am._

“…And if I refuse?” Kiku asked cautiously.

“Then I shoot you here.”

Kiku frowned, un-amused, a deadpan look in his eyes. “Then I don’t really have much of a choice.”

“No,” Arthur grinned, “I suppose you don’t.”

Kiku considered his options, looked back to the engine and its curving mechanisms. Without even thinking about it he could list each name of each part, knew what it did, how to fix it, how to make sure it ran better. He blinked, and said the first thing that came to mind. “Why me?”

“My last mechanic met an unfortunate end.” Arthur told him smoothly, “Was caught in the crossfire. We need a new one, and you’d be perfect for the job.”

Kiku was silent.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he turned around, defiant look in his eyes, a fire to his voice, “ _Why me?”_

“Because life’s not fair, love.” Arthur smiled, knowing exactly what he was asking, “Because I need you.”

(What Arthur didn’t tell him was the other part of the truth; because he caught his eye and he liked how he talked and worked and he did not want to leave his side. Because he had the feeling that no matter what would happen, what treasure he would lose, he would always have what counted most at his side. He did not talk about how he secretly believed in love at first sight or how his heart fluttered or any of that bullshit.)

(What Kiku didn’t tell him was how he thought Arthur would look much more handsome if he smiled or took off all that ridiculous gold jewelry. He didn’t talk about how he wondered.)

Instead he looked back to the ship, and kept his stony gaze, covering up any other emotion he felt at that moment. He leaned over, giving the engine his full attention, swallowing any pride he had left.

“…I’ll think about it.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smirk.


	13. His Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short and sweet fic of Kiku thinking about how Arthur isn't entirely what people say he's like.

When people complained and spat that Arthur Kirkland was an over-prideful snarky fellow without a kind bone in his body, it was times like that Kiku wished they saw what he saw. Because what he was seeing now was not the bitter man others knew (though that’s not to say he didn’t know he existed, that side of him, he knew his beau full well through and through). What he saw was a jaunty walk and a bobbing head, back turned to his one-man audience sitting on the porch. Kiku did not hear snarky remarks but a cheerful whistling rendition of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” sung to the roses Arthur raised lovingly. He watered each one with careful attention, the sun shining on him just right. Kiku blinked, the book on his lap open, but ignored, and he wondered how no one knew this side was here. Something secret, tucked safely in the labyrinth that was Arthur’s person. But he knew the answer anyway; his love was a secretive, sensitive man, someone who didn’t trust easily and had every reason not to. Kiku considered comparing him to the very roses he took care of, thorny and beautiful. But it was a cliché, so Kiku decided not to and just think of Arthur as just himself.

He then realized that of  _course_  no one would be able to see this side of him; because it was a secret show to only those most trusted and dearest, and upon realizing that Kiku felt a love that filled him up and spoiled him. It was the terribly indulgent and sweet feeling that he gave into every now and then and before he knew it he was smiling.

Arthur turned around to look at Kiku, stopping his whistling. He smiled at him warmly.

“What’s with that grin?” He asked with a cheeky tone. Kiku looked down shyly, a cat caught with the canary, and he mindlessly turned a page on the book he had long forgotten.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “about how much I love you.”

When Kiku looked back up he realized he didn’t want anyone else to see what he saw anyway. The adorable blush on Arthur’s love-struck face was his and his alone.


	14. To: The One I Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt. Teikoku asakiku write letters to each other.

They were supposed to be more mature then this, he knew that. And they were, of course, in the letters: all business, discussing trade and terms and this is what I want, I can sacrifice this, lets meet a middle ground etc etc. All the sort of adult negotiation that led to no wars or full-blown anger. At worst, maybe passive-aggressive comments. (But that was allowed because it was more proper, subtle enough to get its point across and still be mistaken as a slip of tongue.) Well, that is to say, that’s how they  _began_  at least. But halfway through, the smaller comments were added. Perhaps on the bottom of the page in handwritten letters the same size, not ashamed of anything. Or perhaps on a second page, a statement big enough it warranted that. And yet no matter where it was, the tone was always the same:

_Also I know you’re rather weak right now, so I send my condolences to your people and wish you well. God knows, you need it._

_Your last letter stank of wine. I know you’re surprisingly uncultured and uncouth, but do remember even someone like you has a purpose to fulfill. Sometimes I worry about the state of your nation._

_By the way, since last we met were you able to do something about that rotten mouth? There’s nothing likable about a person with a sharp tongue._

_Has the Great British Empire grown taller since I last saw you? Lately France-san has visited me and I was surprised to see his growth spurt._

And so on. They don’t exactly remember who started the tradition, but it wasn’t a battle either wanted to lose. And in a way, it was a very underhanded way of reminding who exactly was sending such a stiff, and business-like letter, a sarcastic reminder of their relationship, the person they were speaking to. It was more personal. It was terribly childish. In other words, it was them.

Kiku ran the letter opener along the seal once more, skimmed the important chatter, eyes darting to the bottom of the page.

_Have you gotten down from you high-perch yet? It doesn’t suit a backwater nation like you, dear._

He resisted the urge to tear it in two. The need had died down significantly since the beginning of these letters, anyway. Instead he was filled with a flame of rivalry then, mind reeling with ideas to top his insult. It had changed from mud-slinging to some sort of chess fight. He made a move, something to throw him off guard. And so Kiku responded in kind, making sure he would have the upper hand again, the last word. And so their game continued.

He leaned back in his chair, holding up the letter in his dim firelight, tried to think of a sore spot of Arthur’s he hadn’t hit yet.

(Was it the loneliness? Perhaps his terrible manners? No, no let’s go for his humiliating past again…)

And in the light of the fire that’s when he saw it.

Transparent words, hidden in a normal light. See-through, surprisingly fragile looking like butterfly wings. And in the hidden message was a quick scurried sentence, rough in appearance, pretty in meaning.

_I miss you._

He felt his heart clench, the breath stop, the world stop.

 _No_ , he mouthed. He didn’t. Not that insufferable, unromantic brute. The man who walked with straightened shoulders, all confidence, no grace or mercy in his step. Not that Arthur. Not  _that_ Arthur. But then who else? Kiku doubted he’d let anyone else handle his letter writing, and Kiku doubted even more there was anyone in the English court who fancied him.

He didn’t wonder about the method it was written with because he’d heard it from Netherlands what could be done with lemon juice (although he waved it away as a good method for espionage; it was too obvious, more suited for children’s games). Still.

Kiku blushed. Frowned. Oh, he was a tricky one as always. And so he placed the letter down, stared down at it like it was a chessboard.

It was time for him to make his move once more.

* * *

The tea was sweeter than usual. Arthur thanked God for newly discovered sugar, and looked at the letter in front of him. It somehow made work go faster, and so he breathed in the scent, summoned his strength, vaguely felt the eagerness rumble in his stomach. He opened it with a flourish, skipped all the business, saved it for later, went straight to Kiku’s comment.

_I’ve actually been meaning to ask you to step down from your throne already. It’s not suitable for someone as insufferable and unrefined as yourself._

He grinned to himself like a wolf. Oh, oh, what a darling his fair Kiku was. What a self-absorbed darling little thing he was, that Arthur just wanted to crush in his hands already. He began to think of a million foul phrases to send back to him, to cut him down. Something that he could think about later, after the letter was sent. Something he could repeat in his mind, and fantasize Kiku’s angry reaction to. Something to make him snap.

He leaned back, holding the prize up, admired it for a moment, until he saw it.

His jaw dropped.

_Then come see me._

_I miss you too._

Arthur dropped the letter. Processed the words. Processed what it meant.

He  _saw._

And suddenly the room was hot, or was that only his face? And suddenly his heart was going too fast, panicked and loud, and he wanted to scream, and kick things. He wanted Kiku here so he could grab him by the collar yelling something like  _It’s not what you think I wrote that on a whim Don’t you laugh at me Don’t you dare_

But of course he would. But he knew it wouldn’t be a mocking smirk but something gentler, something of an invitation, something to let them be more.

Arthur laid his head against his desk, groaned, defeated but equally elated.

Trust Kiku to take a hit when there was an opening. It’s what made Arthur love him more.


	15. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flash fiction piece. A scene on the battlefield.

Kiku Honda does not feel anything.

He should be feeling a million things like how his heart is beating entirely too fast, like the deep red wound on his leg that is pooling his blood underneath him. He should feel the mental and physical pain of a battlefield, the anguish, the excruciating pain that should have  infiltrated all his senses and left him aching and begging for death.

He doesn’t register any of it. He does not feel anything. Not even the arms wrapped around him, not even the chest his face is pressed into. Not the tears that fall on him, neither the heaving sobs that rumble against him.

Kiku Honda does not feel anything. Instead he intently hears the crying and the disgusting sobbing and instead he sees the gun thrown carelessly to the side that had been shot at him earlier. The gunman is crying and holding him and his name is Arthur Kirkland and Kiku hasn’t been so close to him not since they ended the alliance.

Kiku does not feel anything in that moment. He only sees and hears and Arthur takes in all his senses.

And he hears.  _I’m so sorry_  he whispers  _I’m so, so sorry._

Kiku wants to feel something for him but he can’t. He knows he should, but he can’t. His mind wants to tell Arthur that this is war and he should know that and really it’s their own fault and he shouldn’t be backing down now not when he had signed the papers years earlier. He wants to tell him to grow up. He wants to tell him that they’re over and he has forgotten their kisses and sweet nothings.

(He wants to lie to him.)

Instead Kiku closes his eyes and forces himself to feel something, anything and all he can think of is how Arthur was probably the best mistake he’s ever made.


	16. Don't think about the Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A piece that had originally been planned as a 19 page comic. Kiku gets what he wants, at a price.

He would wake up on the porch. That’s how it usually started.

He would wake up on the porch and the sun would be shining (but not too brightly), and his body would feel warm and Pochi would be barking in his ear. He would frown and struggle to get up, and inwardly scold himself for napping at such a place. He shouldn’t be so careless. He supposed he was getting old.

Pochi would keep barking and barking though, and it would confuse Kiku for usually his dog was so well-mannered and when he would give him his attention he would start running. And Kiku, confused would look at him, and Pochi would be impatiently waiting, his tail beating against the floor until Kiku would follow.

With no other choice, he usually did. He would walk the dark halls of his house (were they always this dark?) and Pochi would lead him to the front door. There he would be sitting, a worried look on his face, as worried as a dog could look. That was when the dread would usually settle in, like something was approaching, but it wasn’t something he could predict.

And then came the knocks on his door.

Nervous and uncertain, he would open it.

In a ray of sunlight shining behind him would be Arthur, smiling softly and kindly and Kiku would feel his heart stop. The world stop. A moment that held its breath.

For the last time he had seen Arthur he had been looking at him coldly from the other end of a meeting table, with Francis and Alfred at each of his sides, and the papers in front of him. The papers Kiku had signed that proved he was no longer useful to Arthur and that good things never lasted. It was a sharp contrast to the kind looking Arthur in front of him, the gentle one framed in warm light, and not drab grey. Kiku always struggled to say something but his throat felt tight as if there were too many words trying to get out and it choked him. And he wanted to cry.

Next, Arthur would embrace him just the way Kiku always wished he would, and he would nuzzle his face in his shoulder just like Kiku wanted. He breathed him in and cherished him, and Kiku was surprised but mostly happy for it was everything he had ever wanted and what the world would never give him. He would gasp Arthur’s name (pronouncing it  _Asa-san_ as a result of his flustered state) and want to embrace him but he wanted an explanation first. Arthur would pull away a bit then, hold his Kiku’s face softly in his hands, and he would gaze into his eyes. And the green eyes were so breathtaking and it would always remind Kiku of when he had first seen those green eyes, the first green eyes he had ever seen, the green eyes he would always love. Arthur was still smiling and his cheeks were flushed, and he would finally give Kiku his explanation:

“I still love you.”

Kiku wanted to cry.

“I always have. I always will.”

Kiku would begin to cry.

For his heart was overflowing and surely the world was playing a trick for it was never this kind without a price. But Arthur would fret over him so sweetly, ask him if he was okay, asked him why he was crying, but Kiku struggled to answer him for there were too many words, too many tears, too much happiness. He stuttered and sobbed and he must’ve looked so pathetic, but Arthur placed loving hands on his shoulders and waited patiently and Kiku was grateful for it, very much so. It was strange because up to this point everything was surprising but still muddled. As if covered in fog, but it was always this moment Kiku would feel more in control, more level headed, the world would seem clear, his words all the more powerful despite their shuddering tone and shaky syllables. In a mess of tears and shaking Kiku would tell Arthur what he had wanted to tell him for so long, for what he was never given the chance to, the words that would never be spoken.

“I’m…I’m crying because…” he sniffled at this point and it took all his strength to speak, but he felt strong enough for this moment, “Because I…I thought it was only me.”

“I thought I was the only one still in love.”

It was the confession that took everything out of him, the final verdict, and Kiku would still be crying. But then he felt warm arms encircling him and he allowed himself to return that embrace, allowed himself to be lost in it, as he breathed Arthur’s name again, in that warm light, in that perfect grip.

_Arthur-san. Arthur-san._

(And sometimes if he was feeling exceptionally lonely he would instead only utter  _Arthur_ , dropping honorifics and shame entirely.)

It was the moment Kiku had always wanted, it was the moment he wished he was allowed. If things had been done differently. If the world had been perfect. If they were human. If nothing had gotten in their way. If Arthur had been stronger. If Kiku had been more mature. It was the moment that had been stopped by a million and one things, a moment that never got to happen, a moment destiny didn’t wish for Kiku to experience. It was the moment he wanted. It was the moment he needed.

And then the embarrassment would settle in. It always did; despite its theatrics Kiku was still his proper self and he would inch away from Arthur’s hold, eliciting his lover’s confused gaze. Kiku would hide his red face behind his kimono sleeve, looking away shyly.

“My…My apologies.”

“What for?”

“For making such an unsightly display.”

Arthur would chuckle then and all mortified worries would fly away, and Kiku would look back. Arthur would smile, an eyebrow quirked, amused and happy. He shook his head, as if to say ‘what am I to do with you’?

“Kiku why would you apologize for that?” he would look at him with a soft gaze then, serene, perfect, and fake. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.”

That’s when the cracks would begin to show.

Kiku paused for a moment. No matter how many times it had happened before he always assumed he misheard. He never learned his lesson; he didn’t want to. He would smile, confused, and something would seem off, seem too much, crooked. Unreal.

“…What for?” Kiku would ask, dumb and hopeful thing he was. Arthur was still smiling. It would be ok. The light behind him was still shining beautifully. It was still ok. Arthur had said he loved him. Arthur had uttered the words Kiku had been longing to hear. Arthur gave him hope. It had to be ok.

It had to be ok.

In those ending moments Kiku finally noticed the smile wasn’t warm anymore, it wasn’t kind. It was almost as if…as if Arthur was  _laughing_  at him.  _Mocking_  him.

“Because,” he would finally say, and then the light seemed too bright, too blinding and it hurt, “it’s time to wake up, Kiku.”

He would be engulfed in light.

That’s usually when Kiku would wake up.

* * *

He always woke up crying. That was something that occurred without fail. No matter how hard he would try to prepare himself he always woke up in a startled sadness with a heavy heart. His cheeks were wet, and he would be crying.

In the darkness of the room, he stared, trying to catch his breath, trying to calm his nerves. The sheets felt heavy on him and he sat up, his back aching with the movement, and he tried to calm himself. Kiku’s heart was beating entirely too fast and he breathed in and out, tried to relax and not think. Thinking about it never did him any good for it only thrust him into a deeper abyss, a more powerful sadness, so he tried not to think. He tried to breath. He tried to stop crying. He tried his best to not think about the dream.

He tried not to think. He tried to breath. In. Out. In. Out. Slowly, surely, he struggled through his frenzied state. He stared out into the crushing darkness, felt suffocated it in and he closed his eyes shut, so much it hurt, wished it all away.

He tried not to think about the dream. It had been haunting him too much, visiting him nearly every night and he would not do it the honor of having it torture him. He would not give it his attention. He tried not to think about the dream.

A headache settled in. Kiku weighed his face in his hands and he tried to breath. He tried not to cry.

He sighed loudly instead in the lonely, dark bedroom.

Kiku wished there was a way he could stop dreaming altogether. He wished there was a way to get Arthur out of his heart.


	17. Springtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written from the prompt of cherry blossoms.

“I…I didn’t think there would be so many people.”

Kiku chuckled at this, a warm laugh from the back of his throat as he poured his guest another drink. “I did say this was a celebrated event. It’s something for everyone to enjoy.”

Arthur said nothing to this, only taking another sip of the warm sake, felt its warmth spread through his body. Strong stuff, but he got used to it soon enough. His eyes took in the scenery around them, the vast green hills, other people enjoying picnics, the buzz of laughter floating through the air. And what drifted through the air, the very thing that had brought everyone together here, today.

Cherry blossoms. Today Arthur and Kiku were viewing cherry blossoms, spring just beginning.

It was something Arthur had always wanted to see, an event that seemed beautiful as it was joyous. For Kiku had been a gracious host whenever Arthur came to visit, showing him the many different aspects of his culture. This too, he was being treated as a guest, enjoying the sights.

As well as his friend.

“Do you like it?” Kiku asked, oblivious to the many side-long glances Arthur sent his way, who looked away once more. He nodded, quick, leaning back on his palms.

“It’s absolutely breathtaking.” He confessed, “Almost poetic. I can see why these flowers are so prominent in your art and literature. It’s another wonder of nature.”

“You’re too kind.” Kiku smiled, and he seemed to shine today. Arthur noticed he seemed more different, cheeks pink, smiles coming more easily to him. Maybe this was another part of Kiku, maybe the cherry blossoms did this to him? He supposed the reason didn’t matter, for now, Kiku was just as breathtaking as the cherry blossoms. Arthur blushed at this thought, this sudden thought, tried to shoo it away. The alcohol was probably getting to him. Right.

At that moment he heard another warm chuckle next to him, and turned to see Kiku hiding his smile behind his sleeve. He tried to fight off another blush.

“W-What? What is it?” He asked, defensive.

“Your hair. Here, let me see.” Before he knew it, Kiku reached out for him then, Arthur freezing on the spot. When he pulled back, he held a single petal in his hand, a smile on his face. Arthur felt mortified, embarrassed and immediately spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“You…You should smile more often.” He spoke quickly, shyly, words running together. Tried to ignore the surprised look on Kiku’s face, “I-I mean it…it suits you.”

He wanted to say so much then, said too much. Mouth moving before his mind could think, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was just that lovesick. “It just…It makes you look cuter. N-Not saying you are cute, but-! Well no, I’m not trying to insult you! I just…I…!”

Kiku remained quiet, surprised, and Arthur looked away, wished he was better with words, and trailed off. “…I…I don’t know what I’m saying, honestly.”

Then, he felt a hand over his, his heart jumping into his throat.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Maybe that was enough. The important words left unsaid, the feelings unresolved, and Kiku moved a bit closer, hand still over Arthur’s. He cleared his throat then, “…You were surprised there were so many people.”

Arthur didn’t say anything.

“…If I may be so bold…is it because you wanted to be with me?”

Still, he didn’t say anything. But slowly, ever slowly, he put an arm around Kiku, pulling him closer, and he eased into it. They both did. They watched the cherry blossoms in silence, their actions enough to know what this was, what they could be, and they smiled.


End file.
